Letting Go
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: Wherever you are, I hope you're not missing me as much as I miss you. GSR, Sequel to Giving Up
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: With a few exceptions, the characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I got the general consensus that a sequel to "Giving Up" would be welcomed, so with the large amounts of free time that I have lately, I sat down and wrote this, the first chapter. If this story gets even a tenth of the incredible feedback its predecessor did, I will be a happy little writer. Thank you and enjoy!

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Well I know it wasn't you who held me down

Heaven knows it wasn't you who set me free

So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains

And we never even know we have the key.

- The Eagles, "Already Gone"

* * *

_Dear Greg, Nick and Warrick,_

_Hello from Kakanj! And if you have no idea where Kakanj is, don't feel bad. I'd never heard of it either until two weeks ago. Kakanj is a city just northwest of Sarajevo in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Yes, gentlemen, I am in Eastern Europe. And it's not as bad as they make it seem on TV. If you don't count the fact that I spent my whole first day here in a seminar on how to detect and avoid active landmines left over from the war, it's really a beautiful country. Just very sad. But then, I am here to help uncover a mass grave just found on the outskirts of the Kakanj, so I wasn't expecting a vacation in paradise._

_They're driving us out to the site tomorrow, and I'm not sure when I'll have access to a post office again, so I apologize if this is illegible. I haven't written an actual letter in a long time. And I am sorry I didn't email more from London. There was so much to do there, and I don't just mean seeing the sights, although I did plenty of that. There were also lectures and refresher classes and several doctor appointments. I am happy to inform you that I am now immune against typhoid fever. No jokes, Greg; it's not sexually transmitted._

_I know I spent a good part of my last email talking about England and how I could live there forever, so now I'll spend a little time talking about the people I'll be working with for the next couple of weeks. Or months, maybe._

_The only other woman in the group is Dr. Jan Jacobs, a forensic anthropologist out of D.C. Fortunately, we get along pretty well, because she's the only one I can turn to if I have a tampon emergency. Oh, I'm sorry, did it hurt to read that part? Get over it, boys. She's about five years older than me, divorced, no kids, and believes in the existence of supernatural phenomena, including, but not limited to ghosts, UFO's and Bigfoot. Conversations around here get strangely personal._

_The other forensic anthropologist on the team is Dr. Anthony Richard Ryland, a professor from Indiana State University, currently on a six-month research sabbatical. And yes, he says it just like that. He's kind of ass; think Ecklie if he cared more about science than politics, but he's got a surprisingly good singing voice._

_I just met our translator and U.N. contact, Berislav, but he seems nice. Which is good because he holds a lot of power over us. He's the one who tells us which door says 'gentlemen' and which says 'ladies.'_

_Our forensic pathologist, Dr. William Ashe, is an M.E. out of London. He reminds me so much of Doc Robbins that sometimes I have to tell myself I'm not in Vegas anymore. He's a widower with three grown kids who gave retirement a shot and decided it wasn't for him. He's also a great cook, even over a campfire, he claims. We'll see._

_And rounding out the team is a reporter from the L.A. Times, Simon Christiansen. He's doing a major piece on the genocide, ten years later, specifically the ongoing efforts to locate and identify victims. What can I say about him? He calls me 'Vegas.' He asks a lot of questions, some intelligent, some to meant only to provoke a reaction. In other words, he's a reporter. You can't trust them. All they're after is the scoop, no matter the cost. I intend to keep my distance._

_I can't believe that it's been two months since I left. I'm not sorry I did, but I do miss certain things, not the least of which being you all. Nick, have you shaved yet? Warrick, how's the Emerson case going? Are they going to convict? Greg, I sent this letter to your address, but don't go thinking I miss your ugly mug more than the others. Now your coffee, that's another matter entirely. Tell Catherine I said hi. Brass, too. And as for anyone else who might inquire after me, tell him I'm fine and I'm learning something new every day. This is an adventure that few people get to undertake. And as if that wasn't enough, I'm doing something really important for a lot of innocent victims of a horrible war. What more can a geek ask for?_

_Wish me luck. I promise to keep my toes away from landmines._

_Hugs, Sara_

* * *

"She's miserable."

Warrick raised his eyebrow over the top of his newspaper. "I got that same vibe. All those jokes and talk about adventure…I've never heard anyone sound more miserable."

"I see through your thin veil of sarcasm." Greg waved Sara's letter in the air. "Trust me, it's all a show. She wants us to think she's happy so we won't worry about her. Fortunately, I'm onto her game."

Nick shook his head as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "I'm not thrilled about the whole landmines thing. But at least she won't become Typhoid Sara." He set down the pot. "Look, I wish she hadn't left as much as you do, Greg. But she did. And she sounds happy. Happier than she's sounded in a long time. Don't make a mountain out of a molehill."

"But what if she gets so happy, that she decides not to come back?" Greg let the question sink in before nodding. "Yeah, hadn't thought about that, had you?"

"Warrick, have you analyzed the casts of the footprints from the…" As Grissom entered the break room, eyes on his clipboard, Greg scrambled to hide Sara's letter. His efforts to be inconspicuous only helped to tear Grissom's attention away from his case file. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing," Nick said, a little too quickly. Greg had his hands behind his back, in the classic 'I'm hiding something' way. "Fresh pot of coffee," he went on, holding up the pot. "Want some?"

Grissom all but ignored him. "Warrick?"

"Report's on your desk," Warrick told him. "And there's a letter from Sara."

"What the hell, man?" Greg spread his arms, revealing what he'd tried to hide from their boss.

Nick sighed and took a sip from his mug. "So much for a quiet shift."

Grissom lowered his clipboard, his eyes now permanently fixed on the pages in Greg's hand. "How…" He stopped to clear his throat. "How is she?"

Warrick glanced at both Nick and Greg before replying. "She's fine. She's learning something new every day."

The look on Grissom's face told them that he desperately wanted to know more, but couldn't quite bring himself to ask. Nodding, he tried to focus back on his file. "I'll be in my office."

He left, and Warrick shook his head, raising his paper once more. "Pay attention, Greggo. That's miserable."

* * *

"Hey, Vegas. Guess what?"

Sara turned her head away from the crackling fire in the hotel's hearth, irritated at having been interrupted. She'd sought out a quiet corner of the lobby to write a letter to Greg, Nick and Warrick, not so that she might be pulled into guessing games with Simon, intrepid boy reporter.

'Boy' wasn't a fair title to give him; he was only a year younger than Sara herself. Taller than her by a couple of inches, he was well-built with a shock of black hair, long enough to brush his collar. Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped down next to her on the overstuffed loveseat. The shoulders of his ubiquitous leather jacket were wet and he smelled like fresh air.

"It's snowing," he informed her.

"It's August."

"Guess you're not in Nevada anymore, Dorothy." Simon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his digital recorder. "Will snow impede the recovery efforts? How would you feel about this, now that you're actually here, ready to go?"

She folded her finished letter and tucked it into her journal. "As long as the ground isn't frozen, it'll just make things colder."

"Whatcha got there?" he asked, pointing to the edge of the letter sticking out between the pages. "Pen pal back home?"

"And what part of your article concerns what I do in my spare time?"

"Human interest," Simon replied. "Any two-bit journalist can do a follow-up story on the war. I'm looking for a fresh angle." He paused. "And you're it."

Sara blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Hear me out here." He talked with his hands, fanning them dramatically as often as possible. "People, the American public specifically, can't really care about something unless an American is involved in it. Put a fellow countryman's face on a political issue and suddenly it matters. If I write a story about an American scientist helping dig up foreign victims of a foreign war, I'm way more likely to get interested readers. And a Pulitzer. So, Vegas, what do you say?"

"I say…there are two other Americans on the team. Let one of them be your ticket to fame and fortune."

"No offense to Jan or the Dick, but neither one of them is even half as beautiful as you are." He'd caught her off guard with that, and he took the opportunity to sneak in another compliment. "I bet you photograph really well."

Sara regained her voice a second later. "You're opportunistic and you need a new line." She gathered her journal and stood up to go. "I'm not here to be your cover girl."

"What are you here for, Vegas?"

Now standing behind him, Sara gripped the back of the loveseat with her free hand and counted to ten. "What did I just say about…"

"Off the record." Simon turned off his recorder. "See?"

Sighing, Sara released her grip. "What makes you think I'm not here for the obvious reasons?"

"What are the obvious reasons?"

She lifted one shoulder. "To help. To bring closure for people who really need it. To further my own experience as a forensic scientist."

"How can you make 'forensic scientist' sound sexy?"

"Goodnight, Simon."

He jumped off the couch, waving her back. "C'mon. Wait." She stopped, but didn't turn around. "Is all of that noble stuff really why you're here?"

Sara glared at him from over her shoulder. "What are you implying?"

"Well…" He gave her a lopsided grin. "Jan's here in the aftermath of a messy divorce. The Dick is escaping a plagiarism scandal. Doc Ashe has spent his whole life taking care of a family that's now grown and doesn't need him and a wife who passed before her time; he needs to be useful again." Simon studied her for a second. "What personal demons drove you all the way to Bosnia?"

_I have to find the Sara Sidle who came to Vegas six years ago._

_When you do find her…will you come back?_

"This interview is over," she told him in a flat, no-kidding-around tone. "See you in the morning."

"I'm wearing you down, Vegas!" he called after her. "Pretty soon you'll be in love with me!"

It pissed her off to no end that 'My name isn't Vegas!' was the only thing she could think to yell back.

* * *

Alone in his hermetically sealed townhouse. Wasn't that how Catherine had put it once upon a time? He wasn't sure about the hermetically sealed part, but the alone bit…that was still true.

He'd had the phone in his hand for twenty minutes and had yet to make the call. It would be an experiment, and like any experiment intended to yield important results, it couldn't be rushed. Grissom tapped the end of the phone against his mouth. He could do this. It wasn't hard.

He dialed, put the phone to his ear and waited.

"I'm not coming in on my night off, so don't ask."

"Hello to you, too, Catherine. This isn't a business call." Grissom hesitated. "Do you want to have dinner with me?"

He thought he heard a choking noise on the other end. "No."

That hurt and he wasn't even interested in Catherine romantically. "I'm not asking you out. Well, I am, but not with any connotations."

"Of course not. 'Cause I know you way too well to ever be your lover."

"I was just hungry and thought you might be, too."

"I am. And I could be persuaded if you're buying. But there's something more, isn't there?"

Grissom scratched his beard. "I haven't asked a woman out in…awhile."

"Brushing up on your skills while she's gone?" His silence was answer enough. "Oh, Gil…you are trying. And that's something. So take me to dinner."

"Thank you, Catherine."

"Somewhere classy."

"Okay."

"Roses, not orchids. I'm old-fashioned about some things."

"Catherine…"

"It's called 'wooing.' Live it, learn it, love it. See you at eight."

On his way to hang up the phone, Grissom passed by his dining room table, on which his atlas lay open to a map of the whole world.

"Wherever you are," he said out loud. "I hope you're not missing me as much as I'm missing you."

He left the map open and went to get ready for his 'date.'

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. Well, most of 'em, anyways. 

Author's Notes: I'm a happy little writer;) Thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed. I appreciate it, so much.

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

If I could change one thing in this world

I'd change your mind and make you my girl

Because I'm lost and I need to be found

Crazy as it sounds

I need you around

- Smoking Popes, "Need You Around"

* * *

_Grissom,_

_You'll never get this letter, because I'll never send it. Even as I write these words, I'm not sure why I'm doing it. I could write this to Greg and get a letter back full of ribald jokes and office gossip intended to make me smile. Or I could write to Nick and get back sympathy and quiet understanding. But if I did send this letter to you, I want to think that you'd simply ask me to reconsider whether this job is something I'm meant to do. And right now, I'd have to._

_Grissom, I've seen more of death than anyone really should. We both have. Before today, I thought I was well-versed in the infinite ways humans can hurt other humans. I was wrong. I wasn't even close._

_The site is in someone's backyard, and I find that the hardest to deal with. For ten years, a farmer and his family have been living with the bodies of their neighbors. Children have played on the grave, never knowing that only a few feet under the soil lay the things in their nightmares._

_I want to cry for these people, Grissom. When our translator asked the farmer if he planned to move, he said that there was nowhere he could go where there wasn't death. We chose to live with death. These people weren't given a choice._

_Two bodies recovered today. How many more to go? The sonar images say hundreds. If you asked me to come home right now, I would. But I'd hate myself for it later._

_I miss you._

_Sara_

* * *

She fed the handwritten pages into the fire one by one, watching her words curl up and melt in the heat. Even after the letter had disintegrated, Sara continued to stare into the flames. Despite her exhaustion from a day spent on her knees in a light layer of snow, brushing half-frozen black dirt away from a jumbled pile of bones, she knew she wouldn't be sleeping that night.

"Sara." Jan appeared at her side, holding out a plastic travel cup. "Meet my friend, Jack."

She took the cup with a rueful smile. "We've met." Downing the shot, Sara winced. "It's been awhile, though."

"Jack helped me through a cheating spouse and his demands for alimony," Jan said. "But I figured Mr. Daniels' healing powers might just help out here, too." She threw her head back to take her own shot. Swallowing, Jan sighed. "No stars."

Sara looked up at the bleak night sky that blanketed their camp site. "It'll snow again tonight." She just hoped her tent really was waterproof. She had no problem with the sleeping arrangements; staying with the bones was important in order to keep them safe from scavengers, both animal and human. But she did demand that she at least not wake up in a frozen puddle.

"What a day," Jan said after a few moments of contemplative silence.

"Yeah," Sara agreed.

"Ladies." Simon sauntered over to them, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "What do two beautiful scientists, unwinding after a long day of digging up death, talk about beside a roaring camp fire?"

Jan gave Sara a second to reply, but when she didn't, she said, "Who would make a better lover, Superman or Batman? Sure, one of them is made of steel, but the other…one word. Toys."

Simon gave them both a look. "Wow. Just wow." He pointed to the second camp fire where the men were gathered. "I'll be over there."

As soon as he was gone, Sara let her pent-up smile go. "I wish I had thought of that days ago."

"He's mostly just annoying." Jan winked. "Cute butt though."

"I really wasn't looking."

"Why not? Oh! Are you…?"

Sara frowned. "Am I what?" Jan raised her eyebrows. "No! No, not me. I like men. I just don't like that one," she clarified.

"Some of the best sex I've ever had has been with men I didn't really like." Jan poured herself another drink from her flask. "In fact, I'm starting to get that itch to have a really reckless affair." She held out the flask.

Sara declined another round with a shake of her head. "Well, he's all yours if you want him."

"That's sweet of you, but he's too young to be interested in someone my age."

"You're only, what, five years older than me?"

Jan laughed as she replaced her flask inside her down jacket. "I'm getting my money's worth out of my moisturizer. Honey, I've got at least ten years on you and him."

Sara suddenly wished she'd accepted the second round. "Why do people get so caught up in age differences?" Her breath swirled around her face in the cold air. "Age is a state of mind, age is just a number…all those clichés are true. I get so sick of it being an issue that has to even be dealt with!"

"Sounds like you're speaking from more experience than I am, so I'll defer to you on this one," she said, calmly, but not without a fair amount of curiosity. "Bad breakup?"

"Not exactly."

"Feel like talking?"

Sara shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'm just going to turn in." She started walking towards her tent. "See you in the morning."

Once inside her tent, Sara zipped the door flap shut, sealing out the wind. If she could have done the same to her thoughts about him, she would have slept a lot better.

* * *

Ever since he'd learned that Sara was in Bosnia, Greg had made it is his off-hours mission to learn as much about the country as possible. He went back through years of forensic journals for articles, pored over a detailed map of the country, and even learned to speak a few words, a skill he was all too eager to show off.

"Zdravo," he greeted Nick in the locker room. "Kako ste? Jas am dobro, hvala."

Nick shrugged out of his coat. "Taking up Elvish again?"

"Bosnian," Greg corrected him, with an air of superiority. "One of the three languages spoken in Bosnia. I'll be starting on Croatian next."

"Your intentions are good, Greg…" He pulled his vest out of his locker and replaced it with his coat. "…but you've gotta find a girlfriend. Soon."

"I wonder what she's doing right now," Greg mused.

"Probably eating breakfast," Nick replied. "Nine hour time difference."

"Ha! You've been doing some research yourself! Now who needs a girlfriend?"

Nick clipped his ID badge to his vest. "I'll tell you who doesn't. Grissom."

"Not following."

"You haven't noticed?" He sighed. "Every time I walk past his office lately, she's in there, sitting on his desk, leaning over his shoulder, acting like she's co-captain of the cheerleading squad and now that the other captain is gone, she gets the starting quarterback as a concession prize."

"Even more lost now."

Nick slammed his locker shut. "The bleach is seepin' through, Greg." Shaking his head, he left the room. As he passed by Grissom's office on his way out to his car, he could hear the distinct sound of Sofia's laughter.

* * *

"Still no idea where she is?"

Catherine swallowed the last of her hamburger and shrugged. "The boys know. But they're not telling."

Brass signaled the waitress for their check. "What, are they afraid you'll tell Grissom?"

"I guess so. Although if he tried hard enough, he could find out on his own. It wouldn't be difficult to call up IFFS." She paused to take a sip of water. "I did."

"You did?" He barked out a laugh. "I should have guessed. So, where in the world is Sara Sidle?"

Catherine leveled him with a look. "Are you planning to blab?"

"Hey, I'm staying out of whatever goes on between the two of them. And while we're on it, what would that be exactly?" He took the check from the waitress. "Thanks."

"No idea. He won't say. Although he did take me to dinner the other night, bought me flowers, and managed to have an entire evening's worth of conversation that didn't include bodies or bugs. So however they left things, it couldn't have been final one way or the other."

Brass smiled as he tossed down a few bills to cover their lunch. "Because he's brushing up on his skills."

"Sad, isn't it? He was never pimp material, but you've gotta remember the days when Grissom dated on a fairly regular basis."

"I remember. Seems like a lifetime ago."

"Six years, to be exact." Catherine climbed out of the booth. "She's in Bosnia."

"Hell of a place," he whistled through his teeth. "Is that IFFS going to keep her safe?"

"They'd better," she vowed. "I intend to see Gil Grissom happy again some day." She snagged the last fry on her plate. "Even if I have to crack some skulls, his included, to make it happen."

Brass trailed after her, still chuckling. "I'm looking forward to witnessing that."

* * *

"She's cute. What's her name?"

Grissom looked up from his paperwork. Sofia was still in his office, even though he'd stopped actively participating in the conversation several minutes earlier. Apparently she hadn't caught on, because she had turned her attention to his newest pet, brachypelma albopilosum, a Curly Hair tarantula. She tapped lightly on the glass, but the spider ignored her.

There was no way he was telling Sofia that he'd named the spider Sara, in honor of the days when the woman he loved had worn her hair in soft waves around her face and it had taken all of his willpower not to reach out and wrap his finger around a single curl.

"Sofia, can I help you with something?" he asked, pulling off his glasses.

"You can." She planted herself in front of him, leaning forward slightly. Invading his personal space. "Take me out again."

"Take you out…" Grissom stopped as the weight of her words sunk in.

"Did we not have a nice time on our last date?" Sofia snuck him a smile. "Let's have an encore."

He wasn't good at confrontations, but this was one problem that needed to be nipped in the bud.

"Sofia, I can't go out with you."

She pulled back a bit. "Because you're a supervisor and I'm not."

"No."

"Because you don't find me attractive?"

"There's nothing wrong with you. I'm just…"

"In love with someone else?"

His heart pounded when he realized that he was nodding.

Sofia let out a little resigned sigh. "Well, I tried." She stood up straight and gave him a thorough once-over. "Have you kept in contact with her?"

"I don't…" Grissom's throat closed up for a second. "I don't know where she is."

"What would you do if you did know?"

There was something in the way she asked the question. "Do you know where she is?" he demanded. "Sofia?"

"I know where she is," she said, quietly. "Hodges overheard Nick and Greg talking in the locker room. I'm surprised he hasn't jumped at the chance to tell you."

"Tell me." His words were raw; his eyes pleading.

It was at that moment that Sofia truly quit her pursuit of Gil Grissom. He belonged to another woman. And that was that. It didn't matter that the woman was halfway around the world.

But if Sara never came back, it would be her loss. And she would make it her personal mission in life to heal Grissom's broken heart.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. Except the ones that do. 

Author's Notes: Happy Thanksgiving, all. I watched the parade, had some turkey, and fought with my mother. It's officially the holidays! Thanks for taking the time out of your life to read my little story. Trust me, it's appreciated. Take care until next time.

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Wish I could hold you and know you still want me

To be the only one on Earth you need

Just to make your dreams come true like I once did

I'd give anything to be your everything again

- Tracy Lawrence

* * *

_Dear Sara,_

_Don't be mad at the boys; I got your mailing address from IFFS. By the way, if anyone offers you condolences on the untimely death of your dear Aunt Edna, just play along._

_It seems trite to ask how Bosnia is, so I'll just say, I hope you're safe and all that. We're all okay here. Lindsey started eighth grade this week and now her only goal in life is to make the cheerleading squad, God help me. Greg's learning Bosnian, God help us all. Nick's been on a few dates with, get this, the same woman. I don't exactly hear wedding bells yet, but he seems happy. Warrick, as always, is Warrick._

_Before I forget, Ecklie wants to do an article on you for this quarter's newsletter. I'm holding him off for now, but you know Ecklie when he gets his mind on something. Let me know if this idea is completely out of the question, or just a mild annoyance you could live with._

_It's no exaggeration or stretch of the truth to say that your absence is pretty heavily felt around the lab. I don't know if I'll be helping or hurting if I tell you that ever since you left, a certain entomologist has been a different man._

_Scarecrow, he misses you most of all._

_And while were on uncomfortable subjects, I just thought you should know, Callie Lamb's defense has won another continuance. The trial probably won't start until after the new year. No word yet on whether you'll be subpoenaed by the D.A. _

_I'm enclosing a copy of that picture I took of you, Nick, Warrick and Greg at your party. It came out really great. Remember Sara, you've got friends back here. Take care of yourself._

_Best wishes, Catherine_

* * *

"I've got you beat. I've got you beat!" Anthony, or the Dick as everyone had taken to calling him behind his back, waved his arms in the air to distract the group away from the laughter that lingered after Doc Ashe's answer to the fireside question, 'what's the craziest thing you've seen on the job?'

Once he felt he had everyone's attention, the Dick launched into a long and fairly boring tale that involved the discovery of an unidentified Confederate soldier in Kentucky. Sara only half-listened. They were all doing their part to keep the after-dinner conversation light and humorous after a day that had seen the unearthing of five skeletons, two of them obviously under the age of ten, but Sara had never been able to set the job down after a bad day. She wasn't likely to start any time soon.

"That's nothing!" Sara was jolted back into the conversation by Jan's loud declaration. Jack was everyone's friend that night. "My professor in college had pictures of an Indian burial ground where they found the skeleton of a young mother…and the fully formed skeleton of an infant between her hip bones. She died when she was eight or nine months pregnant and they let the baby die with her."

"I thought that was an urban anthropology legend," Doc Ashe said, amused.

"God's truth," Jan swore. "I wouldn't lie to you guys."

There was much laughter at this; even Sara cracked a smile. And she kept it until Simon called out, "What about you, Vegas?"

"Weirdest case?" Sara took a sip from her liberally spiked coffee, stalling. But all eyes were on her; she wasn't getting out of this one. "Okay. About two years ago, I was part of a team called out on a 419. Murder. I wasn't actively involved in the case; I just mapped out the perimeter of the house and some peripheral rooms. So I didn't see the body for a day or two. And when I finally had to print her toes, no one prepared me for..." She took a breath. "The victim could have been my long lost twin sister."

"Freaky," Jan whistled. "How'd you deal?"

"I pretended like I didn't even notice. Which really threw off my co-worker, Catherine. That was just gravy; usually nothing shocks that woman." Sara shrugged, almost too casually. "The whole case was weird from then on."

Simon's eyes never wavered from her. "Was an arrest ever made?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," she replied, a bit coolly. "It's an on-going investigation."

"Two years later?" he pressed on. "Shouldn't it be a cold case by now?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "My supervisor is keeping it open. There are…complications."

"What kind of complications?"

"Simon." Slightly more sober now, Jan shook her head. "Leave her alone."

"I can't help it." He grinned. "I'm an idiot around beautiful, interesting women."

"You're just an idiot," Jan countered, but not without a fair amount of affection.

Doc Ashe cleared his throat. "Who wants to hear what I found in the rectal cavity of a dead prostitute back in the swinging sixties?" he asked, effectively changing the subject, much to Sara's relief.

Later, in the privacy of her tent, Sara couldn't stop thinking about the case. Why had she even brought it up? Why hadn't she told them about the gorilla carcass dropped into the desert, or the woman who got off on clowns? Bringing up Debbie Marlin only stirred up memories better forgotten.

But since her mind was already on it…she reached under her cot, into her duffel bag, and pulled out the one book she'd brought with her from Las Vegas. Grissom's entomology textbook. She opened to the chapter on beetles and the picture tucked between the pages.

It wasn't a great photo of him; he was mostly hidden behind Warrick, on purpose, she had no doubt. But she could still see most of his familiar figure in the snapshot from a past Christmas gathering. It was all of Grissom that she'd allowed herself to bring to Bosnia.

"Vegas?" Simon's voice was muffled by the wind outside her tent. "Vegas, you in there?"

Two weeks experience with him told her he wouldn't go away until she responded. "What do you want, Simon?"

"Can I come in?"

If she told him no, she'd just end up staring for hours at the part of Grissom's face not obscured by Warrick's hair. And that couldn't be healthy.

"Yeah," she said, closing the photo back up in the book and slipping the book under the cot. "Why not?"

She unzipped the door flap and Simon ducked inside, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "The temperature's dropping out there," he commented. "And I didn't think that was possible."

"Far cry from southern California." Sara gestured to the ground. "Sit wherever."

"Okay." He sat next to her on the cot, his hip pressed up against hers. "Thanks." Looking around, Simon pointed to the picture taped up to the tent wall. "One of them your boyfriend back home?"

She smiled; the picture in question was the one Catherine had just sent her, of Sara surrounded by Nick, Warrick and Greg. "Just friends. Good friends."

"Even the one with his arms around your waist?"

"Greg's very physical." Her chest ached all of the sudden for wanting to hear his laugh. "He's a hugger."

"And you're not?"

"I can be."

He shook his hair out of his eyes. "Under what circumstances would you hug, say, me?"

Sara thought for a second. "On pain of death?"

"Hey, that's something. We can build on that," Simon grinned.

"Has there ever been a woman who's bought into your cocky act?" she wondered.

"Are you asking if I have a girlfriend, wife, significant other?" He put his arm around her shoulders. "Vegas…I knew you cared deep down."

The look she gave him was enough to put his arm back where it belonged. "I just like to see the interrogator get interrogated."

"Ah. Well, the answer is no. Not currently. But I'm always accepting applications." Simon raised his eyebrows at her in invitation. She hid a smile as she shook her head. He nodded and turned his attention back to the picture on display. "So if one of those guys isn't lucky enough to call himself yours, is there someone else who is?"

Sara folded her arms over her stomach. "I don't know." She looked away. "It's a complicated situation."

"Only if the guy's an idiot."

"Do you have an off-switch and if so, where is it?"

Simon leaned back and shrugged casually. "I say what I feel when I feel it. Life's too short to do anything else. You should know that better than anyone else."

"Because of my job," she agreed.

"Your job and…you know. The stuff that's happened to you on the job."

Sara's stomach flipped. "What?" She looked over at him, but he refused to meet her eyes. "Just how much research have you done on me?"

To his credit, he seemed more uncomfortable than she'd seen him ever before. "I'm a journalist out of L.A. Big news stories from Las Vegas usually make it into our paper. The kidnapping and attempted murder of a CSI…that's big news."

Anger started to bubble up, hot and acidic. "You've known all of that about me…all this time?"

"And I've admired you even more for having gone through hell without giving upand becoming a CPA," Simon quickly added.

"You might think that you're just doing your job," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "But the press pass in your pocket does not mean you havethe right todig aroundin my life. I am entitled to my privacy."

"I didn't run a background check on you, Vegas. I read a few articles off the AP wire before I even knew you. I just have a knack for names and I remembed yours."

Sara's hands shook. "No one was supposed to know. I wasn't going to be a victim here."

"It's not like that," Simon insisted. "Vegas…Sara. I have no intention of ever telling anyone…"

He tried reaching for her hand but she yanked it away. "Until your article comes out, right?" Sara chuckled bitterly. "I can just see it now. 'The traumatized CSI traveled around the world to escape her demons, to find the peace for others that she can't find for herself'."

"Good line." His tone grew more serious. "But you are so wrong."

"Am I?" she countered. "So you haven't been aiming to use me as Pulitzer fodder since we met? I know your type; I deal with reporters all the time. The only thing that matters is getting the scoop. People's feelings, people's privacy, basic human decency...nothing stands in the way of the all-mighty story."

Simon frowned. "Maybe it was like that at first. But somewhere between the cold shoulder and the mild insults you've thrown my way, I started liking you." He stood up. "Don't worry, though. It might not last long."

When he was gone, Sara zipped her tent back up, taking her frustration out on the nylon. She kicked off her boots, turned off her battery-powered lamp and crawled under the wool blanket on her cot without even bothering to remove her top layer of clothing. She pulled the heavy fabric over her head and closed her eyes.

For some reason, she didn't feel as good about getting rid of Simon as she thought she would.

* * *

The atlas had found a permanent home on Grissom's kitchen table. It lay open, held in place by two paperweights on either side, perpetually displaying a detailed map of Eastern Europe. His daily routine had been altered slightly to include several minutes of sitting in front of the book, tracing the borders with his index finger. Sarajevo, the capital, the Sava River, Mostar, Banja Luka…he knew the country by heart. It was Sara's corner of the world. And Gil Grissom was rapidly becoming a geographical expert on a place he'd never even seen.

Was this how dangerous stalkers got started? With a pile of scribbled notes that included phrases like, "larch bark beetle native to area—get message to S. to be on the lookout—specimen desired" and "landmines havekilled 300 since cease-fire—is S. in area that's been cleared?" He was tempted to shred them all and chuck the atlas out with the garbage. But he couldn't do it. They were links to her, forged from missing her more than he ever could have imagined he'd miss anything. Losing a limb would have been easier; limbs were replaceable. You could learn to live without a limb.

He was learning, a little too late, that he couldn't live very well without Sara.

That night, during his usual session with the atlas, Grissom suddenly pushed aside all of notes and reached for a clean sheet of paper. He stared at the empty lines for a lifetime before he started to write.

_Dear Sara…_

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Big thanks to anyone out there reading and enjoying this story. Just to give you all some idea of where I'm coming from, I'm just a writer, not a scientist. I took physical anthropology in college and did pretty well (I wanted to take intro to forensics, but it was always full), so most of what's in this story is just what I remember from the class and the books I have on crime scenes and the like. If something doesn't mesh with real life, it won't be the first time that's happened in the CSI universe;)

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Beyond the door, there's peace I'm sure

And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven

- Eric Clapton

* * *

_To Sara in Sarajevo,_

_Doesn't that sound like an awesome song title? Damn my inability to learn a single guitar chord!_

_So, when are you coming home?_

_Okay, okay. If that hasn't worked yet, it's probably not going to now. But if it has even the slightest chance, let me know. I'll learn to ask it in Bosnian._

_I feel it's my duty to tell you that, despite not having heard from you either way about it, Ecklie has gone ahead with the profile on you for the newsletter. It hasn't come out yet, but insider sources report that he calls you a credit to the lab. Duh. We've known that for years._

_Is it snowing where you are? The Weather Channel never gives the lowdown on Eastern Europe. I picture you in a fitted red coat trimmed in black (fake) fur, like one of those Communist chicks in old Bond movies who would try to torture information out of 007 until she fell for his capitalist charms._

_Um, where was I?_

_Oh yeah. When are you coming home?_

_From Greg (with love!)_

* * *

"Sara." Jan stood at the edge of the Valley, their semi-irreverent nickname for the large hole their recovery efforts had dug into the black earth. She looked down at Sara who was busy at work uncovering a tangle of bones in the latest uncovered layer. "Time's up," she called out.

Brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, Sara replied, "Just a few more minutes."

"Uh-uh. You know the rules."

It was no use arguing. The rule was, no one spent more than two hours at a time in the Valley. It was a mental safeguard they'd all agreed to help each other abide by. Sara sighed, set down her tools and carefully stood up. Brushing dirt off her knees, she made her way to the rope ladder.

"Your two hours starts now," Sara told Jan after she hoisted herself out of the pit. "And if I gotta stick to it…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jan started down the ladder, armed with her flask and her kit. "Go get warm and quit yapping."

As she walked to the fire, Sara released her hair from its ponytail; without access to a salon, she'd let it grow out past her shoulders, a look she'd never tried before. Some days she loved it. Other days she had to stop herself from reaching for a pair of scissors.

Over the weeks of living in the makeshift tent city, the central fire that they kept going whenever possible had become their town square. You could always find one of the team sitting close to the warmth, working on field notes, having something to eat, or simply staring into the flames, thinking.

That day it happened to be Simon. Sara took her time filling a plate of vegetarian goulash from the pot on the cook stove. Once she had it, she chose a chair several feet away from him. He glanced up from his notebook.

"It's been two hours already?"

"My thoughts exactly." She took a bite. "It's just as well; Jan's better with sorting out the bones than I am." Sara glanced around the empty camp. "Where is everyone?"

"The Dick and the Doc are in the morgue." He gestured to the largest of their tents. It was self-explanatory how the tent had earned its nickname; it currently provided shelter for thirty-two complete skeletons and three partials. Sara herself didn't spend as much time in the morgue as her colleagues. Her main job was recovery and preservation; as she'd just told Simon, identification of the bones was better left to the anthropologists. "Berislav went into town for supplies," he finished up, returning his attention to his work.

She nodded as she took another bite. His answer was congenial enough, but ever since their argument in her tent, there was a strained tension between them. It bothered her that it bothered her at all.

Sara finished off her lunch and debated about what to do next. There weren't a lot of options. She'd already used her allotted time in the Chamber; even though it was just twenty minutes in a metal tub with lukewarm water, it was a daily luxury that she never passed up. She could take her dish down to the stream to wash up, but the idea of plunging her hands into the water that was due to freeze over any day wasn't appealing. That pretty much left writing in her journal, penning a letter home, napping, or seeing if she could lend Doc Ashe a hand.

She went with her last choice. "Don't work too hard," she told Simon as she got up.

In the morgue, Doc Ashe and the Dick were gathered around the newest addition, a woman in her twenties with a bullet hole in the back of her skull. As Sara approached, she picked up the tail end of their conversation.

"…clearly indicates that she was a long-term abuse victim," Doc Ashe pointed out. "Her life was just as violent as her death."

"Collar bones were both broken multiple times." The Dick held one of the bones in question up to the light. "Look at those fracture lines…I want a picture of this for my collection."

Sara cleared her throat lightly and both men turned to look at her, but only their medical examiner smiled at her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"We're done with the initial examination," the Dick informed her. "Document it. Take some extras for Simon's little article. And don't forget about the fractures."

"Please. We appreciate it," Doc Ashe added in his soft British accent.

She reached for the camera. "My pleasure."

Whenever clothing was found intact enough to be useful in future identification, the bones were laid on top of the pieces during assembly. The woman's remains had been wrapped in the tattered pieces of a Disney World T-shirt. As Sara carefully photographed the bones, Mickey Mouse smiled up at her. It was decidedly disturbing.

She was just finishing up when Simon came through the door flap, out of breath. "Vegas…Doc…Jan needs you all."

Running in the cold air, even such a short distance, knocked the wind of Sara. Her lungs burned with each breath until she and the three men reached the edge of the Valley.

"Jan?" she called down to the woman. "What's going on?"

The reply to her question was too calm, too collected. "Could you all please join me? I've found something."

Sara was down the ladder first, followed closely by Simon. "Should you be down here?" she asked him.

He landed on the leveled dirt next to her. "Probably not."

Without waiting for the Dick or Doc Ashe, Sara went to Jan. "What is it?"

Jan could only point.

At first, all Sara noticed was how much progress Jan had made on the skeleton in the short time since she'd taken over. She really was amazing. In fact, Sara would have liked to see her in some sort of body recovery contest versus Grissom. She wasn't sure who she'd lay money on.

But then she took a good look at the bones. Bile rose up in her throat and all stray thoughts vanished.

Now uncovered, it was obvious that it was two bodies, one lying prostrate across the other. And the top body was that of a child.

"Elementary school age?" Sara heard herself asking.

Jan nodded, her face pale. "Six, seven, maybe. Still a few baby teeth."

"What's that?" Over Sara's shoulder, Simon pointed to the lower half of the skeleton. "Please tell me that's not…what I think it is."

Sara kneeled down to get a better look. The object was a ten-inch bowie knife, rusted over from the fluids of decomposition and ten years time. It was positioned at a ninety degree angle between the child's pubic bones, extending all the way up into what would have been the lower intestine. "I think it's safe to say…this was probably a girl," Sara whispered.

She closed her eyes, but she couldn't block out the sound of Simon vomiting.

* * *

Greg sank into his couch with an audible sigh. He had decided that he wasn't going to move for the next eight hours. After a double shift mostly spent on his feet in the layout room, piecing together shredded documents found in a murder victim's briefcase, he was ready for a little rest and relaxation. And some breakfast. But that would require moving, a violation of his plan.

He stretched out one arm towards the kitchen, willing the Capt'n Crunch to come to him, preferably in a bowl with some milk.

There was a knock on the door and Greg let his arm drop with a sigh. "I'm not at home," he yelled as loud as he could. "Leave a message at the beep and I'll give you a call back when…"

"Greg." Grissom's voice was impatient. "I have to talk to you."

To his knowledge, he'd never given Grissom his address. But it was in his personnel file. He'd just never imagined that Grissom would want to track him down badly enough to look it up. Especially since they'd just seen each other at the lab and whatever he needed to talk about could have been discussed there.

That left only one conclusion. It wasn't a work thing. It was something personal. And that was worth getting up for.

Greg yanked the door open. "What's up, boss?"

Grissom held a sealed envelope in his hand. "I need Sara's address."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Again, a friendly reminder. I did take anthropology, but I'm just a writer. Bones are a hobby, not a profession. Apologies in advance if I make any glaring mistakes. Thank you to absolutely everyone;)

* * *

Letting Go 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Every heart that was broken 

There always was a man to blame

- Kitty Wells

* * *

_Dear Sara,_

_Three and a half months ago, you asked me to let you go. And I've spent the past one hundred and five days regretting everything I did to bring you to that point. Six years of regrets, Sara. How could I have let things go so wrong? You were light in my darkness and my neglect nearly put you out._

_When I carried you from the desert, you used every last bit of your strength to tell me that you loved me, something that, until that moment, I hadn't been able to do with any part of mine. Should I have bit my tongue, held the words back yet again? No. Of all my regrets, telling you what's been in my heart for so long isn't among them. Even if it was too late._

_As a scientist, I understand the concept of cause and effect. I caused your unhappiness, your loneliness, your goodbye. And I live with the effect, a world without color, without song, without Sara._

_I know I can't ask you to come home. Likely, I have no right to assume that you ever will. All I can say is, no matter how long it takes, I will be here waiting for you. It's my turn. And you are worth it._

_I have always loved you. It is a constant in the experiment that is my life._

_Yours, Gil_

* * *

"Simon?" Snow crunched beneath Sara's boots; the sound was almost masked by the rush of the icy stream. 

He sat on the gnarled trunk of a downed tree, staring at the water. His back was to her and he didn't respond to his name.

Sara stopped alongside the makeshift bench, her hands tucked into her armpits for warmth. Every day seemed colder than the next; it wouldn't be long before they'd be forced to leave. The remaining bodies would continue to rest in their unmarked grave for another winter.

She blew out a breath and watched it swirl in front of her. "One of my first solo cases, when I worked in San Francisco, involved a five year-old little boy." She paused. "He'd been raped, stabbed and dumped into the bay. By the time he washed up on shore, every fish in the Pacific had taken a bite out of him." Simon said nothing, only waited for her to go on. "God, I wanted to quit right there. To hell with it all…I'd go back to school and finish my physics degree instead. Anything but coming back to that body the next day."

"But you didn't quit," he finally said.

"I didn't."

"Why?"

Sara felt herself tremble, and it wasn't entirely from the cold. "I couldn't let it beat me."

Simon turned his head to stare at her. "That's it? That's your great story? That's supposed to help ease my troubled psyche?"

"Hey, I'm not the writer here!" He looked away and Sara sighed. "Simon, it's been over a week. You hardly eat, you're having nightmares that wake the whole team, and you go entire days without speaking."

"I would have thought you'd enjoy that."

Sara shook her head. "You're bottling it all up. We learn pretty early on that you can't do that. It'll eat you up and leave you with nothing."

"I just keep thinking…" He hung his head for a long moment. "I hope she was already dead when they did…that to her." Simon stood up quickly and reached for her arm. "Is there any way to know? Can you tell what killed her?"

She was torn. The preliminary exams of the little girl's remains showed no signs of any other trauma that could have accounted for her death. No bullet holes, no fractures. To all outward appearances, she'd been in general good health. All they'd found was a gash on the inside of her upper left femur and three on her os pubis. It was all indicative of one probable COD. Perforation of any number of organs including the uterus, lower intestine, or bladder. She'd most likely exsanguinated after being repeatedly raped with a bowie knife.

But she couldn't tell Simon that. The team could handle it; he could not. Sara covered his hand with hers. "She was probably already dead."

If he didn't believe her, he said nothing. But his shoulders relaxed some. "I didn't expect this," he whispered. "I wanted this assignment. Get out of L.A. for awhile, see some of the world. Write about something that matters more than which celebrities are screwing each other this week." Simon squeezed his eyes shut. "But I never thought…it'd be like this."

"I don't think any of us did." Sara looked up at the grey sky. "But at least we're not strangers to it. Like you are. Still, now that you're in our world, you have to decide if you're going to quit or come back tomorrow."

He opened his eyes. They were wet and blue. She only knew that blue in one other person. How had she not noticed his eyes before?

"I can't let it beat me," he said. His fingers were cold against her cheek as he moved closer to her. She let him; she was lost in that blue. "Sara…"

Their mouths met in mid-air, hungry and searching for each other's warmth. It was less of a kiss and more of a testament to life. Simon's hands tangled in her long hair as his tongue melded with hers. She curved hers around his upper shoulders, gripping his collar, lost in the moment. Until…

Grissom.

She hadn't realized that along with the image of him that came to mind, she'd murmured his name out loud between Simon's lips.

"What's that?" he asked, planting hot kisses along her jaw. She'd been lucky. He hadn't even caught it.

Sara fought her way out of his arms. "I can't do this." She shook herself violently, backing away from him. "Not again."

Simon's expression was nothing short of shocked. "Sara? What's wrong?"

She hated the tears that sprung up in the corners of her own eyes. "It's not you. It's…" Her words faltered. "Past experience has taught me…things never end up well when I rush this," she said very quickly. "I'm sorry, Simon."

Turning on her heel, she ran all the way back to camp.

As she ran past the campfire, Jan called out to her. "Sara, come have a…" She ignored her friend and ducked into her tent before she could finish, "…drink."

Throwing herself onto her cot, Sara buried her face in her pillow. Kevin, Lawton, Hank…even Greg on their one date. She'd kissed them all and several more since she'd met Grissom.

So why, only now, did she feel like she had betrayed him?

* * *

"Good evening." On an otherwise boring Tuesday night, Grissom breezed into the break room at the start of the graveyard shift. Much to the shock of everyone who had gathered for assignments, that was the only verb that applied to the way he moved. Breezed. Like he was happy. 

He either ignored or didn't notice the looks being exchanged between his co-workers. "Nick and Warrick, 419 in suburbia. Sofia's already on her way. Greg, you've got the aftermath of a bank-hold up at the Credit Union on Tropicana. Catherine, you're with me. Floater out at Lake Mead." He smiled, actually smiled, at his team. "Good luck all around."

Mystified, the guys departed for their respective cases. As he shuffled out the door behind Warrick, Nick asked under his breath, "That was Grissom, right?"

"Yeah," Greg replied with a snort. "Pod Grissom."

Catherine had the same thought, only phrased slightly differently, and actually spoken to Grissom's face. "Just what kind of happy pills are you on tonight?"

He shook the assignment slip at her. "Can't I be in a good mood once in awhile without everyone assuming I'm not in my right mind?"

She snatched it and threw him a look. "Gil, your right mind is usually in a bad mood." Catherine followed him into the hallway, donning her coat as they walked. "And I don't have to point out that you've been ten times worse over the past couple of months."

"It's been hard," he admitted. "But it's different now."

"Why?" Catherine asked, suspiciously. "What have you done?"

Grissom stopped to open the lab's front entrance door for her. "I wrote her a letter."

He kept walking to his car like that was all he had to say to clear things up. It took her a second before she moved to catch up with him. "You wrote her a letter?" she repeated. "And that means…what?"

"It means that, according to the time frame given to me by the post office, sometime today or tomorrow Sara should know exactly how I feel about her," Grissom said with a little, satisfied smirk. "And that I'm ready to be with her whenever she's ready to come back."

Her smile was lop-sided. "I'm proud of you," she told him. "Maybe you won't blow it this time."

Grissom unlocked his car, shaking his head. "You're nothing if not brutally honest. But nothing's going to go wrong this time. Trust me."

Catherine slid into the passenger's seat and tossed her hair out of her eyes. "God, I wish you'd stop tempting fate."

* * *

The camp was quiet when Berislav returned from town. The back of the Explorer lent to the team by the American Embassy was full of groceries and supplies, both professional and personal. Berislav didn't mind the weekly trip; besides handling all translation duties and maintaining diplomatic relations, there wasn't a whole lot else for him to do. He stayed away from the bones as much as possible. He had a distant cousin who had never been found at the end of the war. 

After unloading, he took the bags with the personal items requested by the team towards the one person he spotted sitting by the fire.

Simon glanced up from his book. "B," he greeted him. For some reason, the reporter could not be bothered with the rest of his name. Americans. "Did you get the stuff?"

He produced a bag of M&M's. "You talk as though it were a drug," Berislav said, his words heavily accented.

"Might as well be, man." Simon ripped the bag open and popped a few candies. "I owe you."

Glancing around the camp, Berislav asked, "Where is every body? I have mail."

"Jan's in the Valley with the Dick. Doc's working in the morgue." He swallowed. "Anything for me, Mr. Postman?"

"No. Just for Sarinka." No one was quite sure how or why he'd given Sara's name a Slavic twist. It was just one of those things that had started and never stopped.

"Vegas? She's napping, I think." Simon hesitated. "I have to wake her up in a few minutes." He held out his hand. "I'll give it to her."

Berislav shrugged. "All right." He handed Simon the letter. "I will be in the kitchen." He left to put the perishable food away.

With one eye on Sara's tent, Simon headed into his own. He had a momentary twinge of guilt for what he was about to do, but it passed. He'd never bothered to take Journalistic Ethics in college.

"Gil Grissom…Las Vegas, Nevada, USA," he read the return address out loud. "Another friend?"

Something tugged his memory. That name. He knew that name. Another moment of thought brought it back to him. Gil Grissom, the criminalist who'd solved dozens of high profile cases. World-renowned forensic entomologist. Sara's boss.

The man who had been credited in the press with her rescue from the desert.

He ripped the letter open and scanned it quickly. When he was done, he carefully folded it back up. Taking the pillow from his cot, he unzipped the slip cover and stuffed the letter into the down feathers. Zipping it back up, he replaced the pillow and released a pent-up breath.

"Sorry, Sara," Simon said out loud. "But you'll thank me later. Office romances never work."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Last chapter's feedback was, in a word, incredible. I was overwhelmed, seriously. That my story makes that sort of impact...wow. But now I feel like I set some sort of bar that I need to keep up with. I don't know if I'll succeed, but I hope you'll keep tuning in anyways. My thanks to those who do;)

* * *

Letting Go 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

The man that came between us was looking out for number one 

He didn't care how bad he hurt you by the selfish things he'd done

But looking in the mirror today, I finally came to see

The man that came between us was me

- Aaron Tippin

* * *

_To: CSI Sara Sidle, Kakanj, Bosnia-Hertzegovina _

_From: Clerk of the Court, Joseph Brent, Las Vegas, Nevada_

_This is an Official Notice from the Office of the District Court of Clark County, Nevada, ordering your appearance as a Witness for the Prosecution in the People vs. Callie Marie Lamb, the charges being as follows:_

_One (1) count, Murder in the First Degree _

_One (1) count, Assault with a Deadly Weapon _

_One __(1) count, Attempted Murder _

_One (1) count, Unlawful Kidnapping _

_One (1) count, Assault against a Law Enforcement Officer_

_Jury selection is scheduled to begin on December 5th of this Year, with an expected trial start date of December 20th. As you are currently a Citizen of the United States residing out of the Country, you are requested to be available to the Prosecution no later than December 10th._

_Reimbursements for travel and/or local accommodations can be requested in writing through this Office within ninety (90) days of your appearance._

_For all matters related to this Subpoena, contact the Clerk of the Court within seven (7) days of receiving these Summons._

* * *

"Well, we knew this day would come." Jan sighed and slung her arm over Sara's shoulders. "Frozen ground, frozen bones…nothing we can do until spring." 

"It's just as well." Sara sipped her coffee. "Time to get back to the real world."

Doc Ashe studied her profile in the light of the camp fire. "I thought this was as real as it gets, my dear."

"There's such a thing as too much reality," she replied with a smile.

"Amen," Jan added, downing the last of her drink. "Personally, I'm looking forward to having a car again. I had no idea I'd miss driving. My bathtub and bed, sure. But my car? Who knew?"

"I miss…" Sara paused. "The lights. It's never night in Las Vegas." She looked up at the sky. "On the other hand, no night means no stars. I will miss the stars."

"There's stars in London," Simon spoke up. "Won't you be going back there with the rest of us?"

She set down her coffee and pulled her long ponytail over her shoulder. "I have to take care of some things at home first. But I'll be back."

"You're going home?" He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, almost nervously. "Why?"

Jan kicked him lightly with the toe of her boot. "Quit being nosy."

The Dick snorted, none too softly. "Must we be subjected to this 'will they, won't they' crap on our last night here?"

"Oh, shut up," Jan told him. "I propose a toast! To us, our freaky little family of displaced intellectuals."

"To the work we've done," Doc Ashe added. "And the work we have yet to do."

Sara raised her mug and gestured to the morgue. "To them. May they rest in peace."

Because it was expected of him, the Dick rolled his eyes and said, "To life and all that sentimental nonsense."

Simon locked stares with Sara. "To finding something beautiful in the least likely of places."

As they drank, she broke the stare. Now she understood what Grissom had meant when he told her he didn't know what to do about "this."

* * *

Grissom stormed in the break room, startling every person gathered for assignments. 

"Nick, Greg, dead guy in a hotel pool. Warrick, dead guy in an alley. Catherine, you're with me. Home invasion." He handed slips all around, but no one made any immediate moves. "Hit the road, everyone."

The guys looked at Catherine, as if desperately seeking out sane leadership. All she could do was shrug and jerk her head towards the door.

"I really liked Pod Grissom," Greg muttered on his way out.

Once they were gone, Catherine turned on him. "Talk. And don't even bother acting like there's nothing wrong. I'm not playing that game."

Grissom shook his head as he headed for the door. "And I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, you're in a mood. A really shitty one, but it's a mood. And I want to know why." She jogged to catch up with him, not stopping until she was a pace ahead. "You know that I won't let up until I get my way, so save us both the time and trouble and just talk."

Grissom increased his speed to get around her.

"Hey!" Now running out the front door, Catherine made a grab for his arm to stop him. "You're ignoring me now? Are you kidding me!"

He shook her off. "I don't want to talk, Catherine. I'm afraid it's not possible to make this concept simpler for you."

"Condescending. Always a mature approach." She ducked in front of him blocking his path with her slender frame. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"I don't…"

"Answer the question."

"I can't…"

Her eyes narrowed. "For god's sake, Gil, answer the damn…"

"She hasn't replied!" he shouted, seriously startling Judy the receptionist as she passed by. Fiercely private until the end, he lowered his voice. "It's been three weeks. And she hasn't written back."

Catherine gave him a second to collect himself. "Were you expecting her to?" The anguished look on his face was her answer. "She's got a lot on her plate, you know. We've all read the reports in journals, seen the pictures in lectures and textbooks, but she's living it. Maybe…"

"Maybe it doesn't matter to her." His voice was lifeless. "Maybe I put my heart on the line for nothing." He paused. "Maybe I was right all along."

"You'd just love that, wouldn't you?" Hands on her hips, Catherine glared at him. "You'd be off the hook, then. Free to retreat into your cavern and hide out for the rest of your life, safe in the knowledge that you were wronged and therefore justified in giving up on humanity in general, specifically the one person who made the mistake of not following your rules."

Grissom frowned. "Do you lie awake at night thinking this stuff up?"

Catherine threw up her hands. "If your letter was half as ostentatious and presumptuous as you're being right now, I don't blame her for not writing you back!" She took a few angry paces away from him, then turned back. "In fact, I don't even know why I'm bothering trying to reason with you at all! You want everything on your terms. Do you realize that you are more accepting of the world's freaks…the furries, the sexual deviants, the psychotics…than you are of the people around you? They're allowed to be fallible and human. We're not!"

Two people in the parking lot had stopped to watch them, but Catherine went on. "Sara is a friend and I respect her, but she's an idiot when it comes to you. She's the one who's had her heart on the line, Gil. For years. And the second you decide to return the favor, and she doesn't immediately fall all over herself to accept, you write her off?" Catherine kept backing away. "Whatever. I give up. As far as I'm concerned, you're a lost cause, Gil Grissom. I'll find my own way to the scene."

After she left, the two witnesses scattered like the wind and Grissom found himself alone in the parking lot.

The woman he loved, and now his best friend. How, in such a short time, had he managed to lose so much?

* * *

"So." 

Sara echoed, "So."

"Sure I can't convince you to stay in London? Wait out winter with us?" Simon nudged her with his elbow. "Doc Ashe has the skinny on the best pubs."

"Tempting. I love a good pub crawl." Her smiled faded. "But I can't get out of this one."

"Maybe I'd be less inclined to keep bugging you if I knew what was so all-fired important back there," he went on. "I thought we were honor-bound expatriates."

Sara shivered in the near-freezing cold of the night air. Everyone had retired to their tents for the last time until spring. Tomorrow morning, a van was coming to pick them up for the return trip to Sarajevo. From there, it would be on to London. And a few days after that, Sara would return to Las Vegas.

This was probably the last chance she and Simon would get to talk for a good while.

She was taking too long to reply. He gave her another subtle nudge. "Vegas?"

"Simon," she started, working up her nerve with each second that passed. "I haven't been completely honest with you."

His back straightened slightly. "Oh?"

"I'm going back to testify against the woman who tried to kill me."

Simon nodded. "Well, a subpoena is a pretty good excuse for taking a rain check on the pub crawl, Vegas."

"There's more." She covered her nose with her hand for a second to warm its cold tip. "You once asked me if I had someone…special back home."

"I did. And you told me it was complicated."

"It is."

"Which means you do."

Sara lifted one shoulder. "I don't know anymore. When I left, things between us seemed…hopeful. Shaky, but promising. I really thought…" She stopped.

"You thought what?" he asked softly. Sara shook her head, dismissing the thought. "You thought he'd keep in contact?"

"I heard from everyone. But not him." She tucked a long lock of hair behind her ear. "If you care about someone who's far away…"

"How can you ignore them for months?" he finished. "Short answer? You can't."

"Then…it's not so complicated. Is it?"

Simon sniffed, looking up at the stars. "Is he what you ran away from?"

"No," she whispered. "But he's what I wanted to run back to."

"I'm sorry."

She blinked out of her trance and smiled at him. "It's not your fault."

He faked a smile of his own. "I guess not." There was a long pause. "So, you'll see him when you go back."

"Yeah. I can't avoid it; he'll be a witness, too."

Borrowing his words from the man he wasn't supposed to know, Simon took her hand into his. "I'll be waiting for you. In London." He raised her knuckles to his lips. "You're worth it."

It was funny. Just like with Lawton, when the words came from the wrong lips, they were just that. Words.

He kissed her a moment later, and she pulled away. She still wasn't sure what to do about him, but she was pretty sure what not to do.

She spent her last night in Bosnia like her first. Alone.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Lots and lots of thanks and cyber-hugs to everyone still reading. Cyber-kisses to those who have reviewed. Enjoy this chapter;)

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

But this is Christmas, yes Christmas, my dear

The time of year to be with the ones you love

So, won't you tell me you'll never more roam

Christmas and New Year's will find you home

There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain

And I'll be happy, happy once again

Please come home for Christmas

- Lonestar

* * *

_Dear Nick,_

_Guess who's coming to Vegas?_

_It's official. I'll be arriving at McCarran on December 8th at 10:05 p.m., British Airways, flight 443. Let me make this clear. You really don't have to pick me up. I can call a cab. But if you wanted to meet me there, I guess it wouldn't be so bad. Still, I'm getting a hotel room, so you don't even have to offer your couch. It'll just be easier, trust me._

_Feel free to share this news with anyone who might be interested. And I'll see you very soon._

_Hugs, Sara_

_PS: Happy Thanksgiving._

* * *

The first thing she saw as she emerged from the gate was the banner.

"Oh god," she murmured under her breath. After twelve hours on two different planes with a two hour layover in Chicago, Sara was not prepared for a welcoming committee.

But there they were. Through the crowd, she could see their familiar faces. And despite her exhaustion, she could only smile.

Greg and Warrick held up either side of the banner which announced, in large black letters, 'WELCOME HOME, SARA!' with Catherine and Nick flanking them.

"There she is!" Greg announced, nearly dropping his end. "Hey, Sara!"

Shaking her head, she weaved her way through the people. She stopped just in front of them and readjusted the strap of her carry-on, unsure of what to do next. This sort of airport greeting only happened in books and movies. Not in real life. And certainly not to her. "Hey guys," she said. "It's me."

Greg's end of the banner fluttered the ground as he threw his arms around her. Pulling back a second later, he examined her with a critical eye. "You're too thin. What did they feed you over there?"

"Thank you, Grandma Sanders."

Warrick embraced her next, the banner all but forgotten. "Hey girl. Good to have you back."

"It's good to be back." It was only half a lie; it didn't really count.

Catherine hugged her awkwardly. "I like your hair," she said. "I never thought I'd see it long."

"Five months without a haircut. It's always grown fast." Sara replied. Gathered in a ponytail at the back of her head, her hair trailed down between her shoulder blades. "I had the ends trimmed in London, but I decided to keep the…"

"Girly talk later!" Nick declared. He pulled Sara into a tight hug, kissing the side of her cheek. "Missed you," he told her softly. "A lot."

She'd been fighting her emotions but in Nick's brotherly embrace, it was impossible to keep up the pretense that it was no big deal seeing them all again. "I missed you, too," she whispered. It suddenly dawned on her who was absent from the greeting party. "All of you." Drawing back, she looked Nick straight in the eye.

She didn't have to ask anything; her eyes said it all. "He took some vacation time," Nick told her. "He's been gone for a few weeks."

"Did he know about me…coming back?"

"No," Warrick assured her, having listened in without being noticed. Sara gave him a skeptical look.

"He didn't," Catherine assured her. "He was gone before your letter arrived."

Sara nodded. "Well." Mustering her bravado, she pointed in the direction the other passengers on her flight were heading. "Baggage claim, then?"

Greg looped his arm through hers. "I'm all over it, Lady Sara." He tugged her carry-on off her shoulder and swung it onto his.

"You want to carry my bags?" She raised her eyebrow at him. "I leave and you get all chivalrous."

"Indeed." He flashed her the smile she'd missed so terribly. "That, and I'm hoping there's presents in those bags."

She squeezed his arm. It was good to know that some things, and some people, never changed. "You just never know."

* * *

"Gil."

Although she still had the capacity to talk, Amanda Grissom only resorted to doing so when she couldn't get her son's attention any other way. He was sitting on her front porch, staring out at the ocean. It was a cold night for southern California, but like he was ten years old again, he'd forgotten his jacket.

She said his name once more when he didn't immediately turn around. She had an instant flash of worry; he'd only told her about his surgery after the fact and although he claimed everything was fine now, a mother's anxiety was never really placated. The fact that her anxiety went hand in hand with guilt for having passed on her condition didn't help matters.

Finally though, her son turned his head and gave her a smile she instantly recognized as forced. His hands spoke to her._ I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?_

The floorboard vibrations of her son leaving the guest bedroom had been enough to rouse her out of a light doze, but she shook her head. After securing her robe tighter around her aging body, Amanda approached him. _Are you cold?_

_I'm fine._ She sat in the rocking chair next to him. For several long minutes, mother and son watched the white crash of the waves against the black shoreline.

Amanda placed a soft hand on her son's arm to get his attention again. _You've been here for three weeks, Gil. And I haven't asked any questions. But that was before you stopped sleeping. Talk to me._

He let out a sigh. You could lie to your co-workers, maybe even to yourself, but you could never lie to your mother. _Do you remember Lizzie Graham? _

_Of course. Your junior year of high school._ Amanda smiled, recalling her son's first major crush. _You were crazy about her._

_I loved her. Or at least I thought I loved her._ He rested his hands for a second. _She didn't feel the same._

_It was her loss._

_Was it?_ Her son's expression was pained. _She was perfect to me. Up until she turned down my invitation to the prom, I thought she could do no wrong. But after that…_

He stopped signing. Amanda picked up the story for him. _You never mentioned her again. Until now._

_I wrote her out of my life, like she'd never existed. She let me down._

_Your expectations were too high._ He shrugged. _You did the same thing to your father._

_He took himself out of our lives, not the other way around._ His fingers flew in sudden anger.

_He wanted to have you on weekends. Holidays. You were eight years old and you refused to see him._

_I had every right._

Unwilling to start an argument, Amanda inclined her head. _Maybe._

Her son's temper abated quickly._ I don't want to be this way anymore. Erasing people from my life when they…_

_Is this about your Sara?_

Seeing her name spelled out by his mother's weathered fingers brought a lump to his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow. _She's not exactly mine._

_She could be. Right?_

He took a minute to reply._ I miss her._

_Of course you do. She's your soulmate._

_You know that from me mentioning her a half dozen times over ten years?_

Amanda touched her son's bearded cheek before she answered. _Your face says so much when you say her name. Your hands even shake a little. So why are you here instead of there, with her?_

_She left. Months ago._

_Gil…_

_I wrote to her. She never wrote back. It's not the first time a woman has given up on me, Mother, but it's the first time it's really mattered._

A cold breeze swept over them and Amanda shivered slightly. _I don't have any advice for you, sweetheart. Except to say that you won't find what you're missing here._

_Are you kicking me out?_ His blue eyes twinkled just a bit.

_Never. I'm nudging you. Mothers nudge when their sons are being stubborn. It doesn't matter if they're five or fifty._

_Do you think I'm a lost cause?_

His question startled her. _Gil, when I was pregnant with you, and my hearing started to go, my doctor told me there was every reason to believe you would be born deaf. But you weren't. You were perfect. If I didn't think you were a lost cause then, I could never think it now. She paused. Of course, if you were to ask me if I think you're particularly good at relationships, I might not be so encouraging. But I blame myself for that shortcoming. All you ever knew about relationships was that they ended._

_I gave up on her too soon._

Amanda inclined her head again. _You can always write to her again._

He nodded. _I will. Once I'm back in Vegas._

_So my gentle nudging is working._

_I'll be leaving tomorrow. I was going to anyways. I have a very important trial coming up that I have to be prepped for._ Her son covered her hand with his and spoke without signing. "Thank you."

"I love you," Amanda told him out loud. Her fingers spoke for her again. _You are my greatest work of art._ She stood up and pressed a kiss to his graying curls._ Try to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Pancakes for breakfast?_

_Pancakes helped with Lizzie Graham._ This time, his smile was genuine. _Can't hurt here._

* * *

"Let's go over it one more time, Sara." ADA Karen Darver paced in front of her like she was already standing in front of the jury. "Prior to stopping by Dr. Forbes' house, what had you done on the day you were abducted?"

Putting herself back in that time, in that place wasn't easy. But after five repetitions of the eye-witness account she would eventually give on the stand, she was almost used to it. The ADA was good at her job; Sara had to give her that.

"I had a day off from work," she replied. "I spent the morning cleaning my apartment, watching a movie on TV. I had lunch." She hesitated for a second. "I got a call from a co-worker, Greg Sanders. And during that call, my supervisor, Dr. Grissom, stopped by my apartment."

"What did he want?"

She took a breath. "He was worried about me."

"Why?"

This was the part that got to her every time. "He knew about my…relationship with Dr. Forbes. Being that, at the time, Dr. Forbes was a suspect in Julia Sommers' murder, he was afraid…"

Karen gave her a few seconds, but when she didn't go on, she sighed. "Sara, we have to establish that if your relationship with Forbes was strong enough to worry your supervisor, it was more than enough to motivate Callie Lamb into attempted murder."

"Won't this just prove that she really is crazy like she claims?" Sara wondered. "I guess I'm still not clear on why her plea of insanity wasn't accepted."

Karen sat down on the edge of the desk Sara was seated behind. "I'll tell you the truth. The D.A. is a strong supporter of the death penalty. He can't put a needle in her arm if she's legally insane."

"But she confessed."

"To what she did to you. She's never confessed to anything regarding Julia Sommers."

Sara looked off to her right. "I went to so many of those group meetings. And every time I walked into the building, she would greet me with a smile. Ask me how my day was. I never imagined…I'd be helping put her to death."

"In all fairness, she tried to kill you first."

Karen might have been good at her job, but she didn't beat around the bush. Sara rubbed her temple. "Can we call it a day? I think I'm still suffering from jet lag."

"I suppose so." The ADA checked her watch. "I have another prep in ten minutes. Time enough for a smoke break."

Sara gathered her bag. "How strong do you think the case is?"

"Pretty strong." Karen pulled a cigarette and lighter out of her purse. "But then, so's the case for her being a nut job." She opened the window, letting fresh air into her office. "It could go either way."

"This might be a bad time to bring this up, but I never actually saw her do anything to me."

Karen lit up. "Just tell what you know. Leave the rest up to me."

"Yeah." Sara opened the door into the hallway. "Bye."

She closed the door behind her, turned around and ran straight into Grissom.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Sorry about that last cliffhanger. I'd promise never to leave you with another one, but I'd be lying through my teeth;) Thanks for all the reviews! Enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Letting Go 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

And here I go, losing my control 

I'm practicing your name so I can say it to your face

It doesn't seem right, to look you in the eye

Let all the things you mean to me

Come tumbling out my mouth

Indeed it's time to tell you why

I say it's infinitely true

* * *

_To: ssidle 71 hotmail . com _

_From: gsanders lvpd . crimelab . com_

_Subject: Chillin wit da peeps_

_Lady Sara,_

_Yo! Thank the good gods above that you finally have internet access! Pens and paper are so last century._

_We're having a little trial-eve dinner at seven tonight at Fellini's in your honor. Don't worry; we've got your check covered. And by "we" I mean Nick. I left this same message on what I think is your cell. Since when does your voice mail message thingy say "To make arrangements for a bachelor party, contact Girls Uninterrupted, Inc"?_

_It's entirely possible that I dialed the wrong number._

_See you there!_

_Greg_

* * *

She arrived at the Italian restaurant fifteen minutes early, having overestimated how much time it would take to catch a cab. She stepped out of the car and smoothed down the hem of the little black dress she'd worn. It wasn't her usual style; she'd bought it at Jan's insistence while shopping in London two days before her departure. She'd left her hair loose, the curled ends swinging past her shoulders. There was no reason to be nervous, she told herself. No reason at all. 

Reservations had already been made under Nick's name; she was seated right away. There was nothing more surreal for a single woman than sitting alone at a table set for eight. Sara forced herself to take the seat the maitre'd offered her. With her back straight and no visible sign that she minded at all, she ordered a glass of wine and waited.

To her great discontent, waiting afforded her the irresistible opportunity to remember what she'd tried not to think about the entire time she was preparing for the evening. The blinding white of the linen tablecloth was like a projection screen. As she stared at it, her mind wandered and the scene played again in her head. All she could do was watch.

* * *

_At first, she couldn't even tell what, or who, it was that she'd bumped into on her way out of Karen's office. With her eyes downcast, she merely jumped back, to get out of the person's way. But then…_

_"Sara?"_

_Her name spoken by his voice. She'd almost forgotten that sound. Sara looked up and into his eyes. "Grissom…oh my god…"_

_"What…?" He started the question, but was too overcome to finish it. Running his hand over his beard, he struggled for breath. "You're…here. You're really here."_

_"I'm here," she echoed, softly. "Surprise?"_

_She wanted to touch him, but she couldn't make her hands move. Seeing him again after so long, being surrounded by everything that made him Grissom…his scent, those eyes…it was like giving a needle to an ex-junkie._

_"Surprise." He shook his head. "Yes. You could call it that."_

_"Hopefully not a bad one." He was still shaking his head. Encouraged, she went on, "I've only been back since yesterday. For the trial." She glanced back at the ADA's office door. "I guess we're here for the same reason." When she looked back, he was staring at her, intently. Like she was under one of his microscopes. "What?"_

_"Your hair." Reaching out, he touched a long, straightened strand. "You let it grow out."_

_"You don't like it?" Damn. She was hoping that would come out light and teasing; instead, it had almost sounded like she was desperate for his approval. Which she wasn't. Not really._

_"It makes you look…" His Adam's apple bobbed. "…young." His fingers trailed from her hair over to her cheek. "Why do you have to be so young?"_

_"No." It was her turn to shake her head as she backed up away from him. "Don't start that again."_

_Grissom blinked out of whatever internal reverie he'd been caught in. "Sara…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"_

_"We haven't seen each other in half a year! Even Catherine hugged me at the airport. But all you can do is pick up immediately where we left off?" Her eyes pleaded with him. "Why can't you just welcome me home?"_

_A moment passed. "Welcome home, Sara."_

_And then she was in his arms. Or he was in hers. It didn't seem to matter. All that did matter was him kissing her, touching her, telling her without words how much he'd missed her._

* * *

Greg slid into the chair next to hers silently. Stealthily. She was staring off into space, her brow creased ever so slightly. 

"Sara?" he whispered. She didn't so much as blink. He cleared his throat. "Sara!"

"What!" She whipped her head around, on full alert until she saw his grin. She put her hand to her heart. "Oh my god, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to off a witness via heart attack!"

"How long have you been here?" he asked with a wink.

She blinked. "I don't know." Glancing around, she asked, "Where is everyone?"

"There's an accident about three blocks down the road," Greg explained. "People could be stuck in that."

"Who all is coming?" She feigned sudden interest in her wine glass, a classic distraction maneuver that Greg saw through right away. She wasn't so much asking about the group, but about one person in particular.

"The usual suspects," he replied. The waiter interrupted them at that moment and he ordered a soda. "I'm on duty tonight," he explained to her. "So…how is it, being back?"

She half-smiled down into her merlot as the memory overtook her again. "Warmer."

* * *

_There were certainly more romantic places than the hallway of the District Attorney's office, even if it was empty at the moment. But right then, Sara couldn't think of a single place she'd rather be. Grissom was kissing her. And he wasn't stopping._

_It wasn't possible to get any closer to him, but she wanted to be. So close that they'd never be apart again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, kissing him back with everything she had. His beard tickled, but it didn't bother her. This wasn't a dream. She wouldn't wake up alone, huddled underneath five blankets in a tent in the middle of an Eastern European forest, her body throbbing for something she'd never had._

_His hands slid up and down her back, desperate for more contact, more togetherness. She whimpered at the feeling. It was too much and, at the same time, too little._

_"Ahem."_

_Karen watched as the couple who had been clinging to each other outside her door quickly broke apart. Sara's hand flew to her mouth, touching her swollen lips. For his part, Grissom looked quite like the teenager caught making out in the backseat of his car._

_"Is this something I should know about before I get the two of you on the witness stand?" Karen asked._

_"No," Grissom immediately replied. "Sara and I weren't…"_

_She couldn't let him finish, couldn't let him talk away the past few minutes like they weren't the most amazing either of them had experienced in a very long time. "Don't worry about it, Karen." She looked at him and willed her voice to remain steady. "It's nothing. Right?"_

_Grissom couldn't seem to find anything to say._

_"I should be going," Sara continued before she lost her nerve. "Still on Bosnian time." She nodded at the ADA. "Bye. Again."_

_He hadn't tried to stop her as she'd walked away._

* * *

Nick arrived with his date, the woman he'd been seeing over the past weeks. Sara could find nothing outwardly wrong with Jessica, as she introduced herself. She was very pretty and seemed to be head over heels about Nick. However, Sara doubted she'd see her on_ Jeopardy!_ anytime soon. 

Warrick came alone, followed a few minutes later by Catherine and then Brass, who immediately pulled Sara up out of her chair and into a bear hug. Surprised, but pleased, she returned the embrace.

Drinks were ordered and when they came, Nick proposed the toast. "To friends. Old, new and returned."

"Here, here," Brass echoed, taking a swig from his Scotch. "I've just gotta say it. This whole group is looking a lot prettier with you back, Sara."

"Hey!" Catherine threw him an indignant glare. "I'll try not to take that personally, thank you very much."

Warrick smirked. "Sara balances the pretty. Without her, we're a bunch of dumb guys with one…" He winked at Jessica. "Sometimes two shining spots of beautiful. It's too concentrated. Three works, though. Balanced."

Catherine's lips curled up in a Cheshire cat smile of appreciation. "I knew I liked you best for a reason."

Brass glanced around the crowded restaurant and then at the empty chair to Sara's right. "We're short one dumb guy tonight, aren't we?"

"Um…not quite. Greg was supposed to bring a date," Nick quickly explained. "Fell through, buddy?"

He frowned into his Coke. "She didn't know what DNA stands for," he grumbled. "I can't even work with that."

Sara joined in the laughter, but the smile on her face didn't quite reach her eyes. She was now keenly aware of the empty chair. She'd thought it was for him and that he simply hadn't bothered to come. Knowing that it had been intended for Greg's date made it a little more bearable.

Sipping her wine, she looked around the table. She'd missed this group dynamic, but she also found herself missing the one she'd left behind in London. Could you be at home in two places, on opposite sides of the world? Was it possible to belong to more than one family, neither one of them being the one you were born to?

"So, Sara." Nick's date jolted her back to the conversation. She focused on the beaming blonde. "Nick tells me you've been overseas. Bosnia, right? How was that? I've always wanted to travel!"

Nick put a hand on Jessica's arm. "Darlin', I don't think Sara really wants to talk about…"

"No. It's all right." Fortifying herself with another sip, Sara went on. "Bosnia is nothing like anything we know here. In fact, it's so far removed from here that it might as well be on a different planet. But it's still a beautiful country." She paused. "I didn't have the typical tourist experience. I was there to do a job. We…we were there to do a job. And we…"

_The first body, a boy barely out of his teens. The deactivated land mine down the road that had caused a scare during their second week. The little girl, raped with a bowie knife. The farmer and his family, living in a graveyard. The bodies that lay in repose, waiting for spring thaw._

"Sara?" Greg reached for her hand, which was wrapped so tightly around the stem of her glass that he feared she might break it. "It's okay." She relaxed her fingers enough for him to lace his through them. He squeezed gently. "You're okay."

She was about to brush off her sudden bout of emotion with a joke when she felt a presence behind her. Like he'd told her once upon a time, she didn't even have to turn around.

"Am I interrupting?" Grissom asked, adjusting his tie. "I got a message from Warrick and I…" Sara turned her head just then and he stopped short.

She shook her hand away from Greg's. All eyes alternated between her and Grissom, waiting in anticipation of some sort of scene. If only they'd been present for their actual reunion. That would have given them something to talk about for years.

Mustering her courage, Sara stood up and faced him. He looked far too good in his suit and blue shirt with his beard neat and trimmed. She forced herself to smile and to think about something else other than the now-familiar shape and texture of his lips. "Hi."

He inclined his head. "Hi."

"Wow." Catherine saluted them both with her Cosmopolitan. "Don't go overboard, you two."

Grissom jerked forward just as she did. They met in the world's most awkward hug. It lasted all of two seconds. "It's...good to…you know…see you," he said once they separated.

She sank back into her chair. "You, too."

Under his breath, Brass asked Jessica, "Is it chilly in here, or is it just me?"

She looked up at the ceiling. "We could be under an air vent."

Brass patted her hand. "I can see why Nicky likes you."

Ignoring the evil eye Catherine gave him even as he spoke, Warrick gestured to the empty chair. "Take a load off, Gris. We haven't ordered yet."

Grissom nodded and sat down. He was so close to her that for a moment their elbows touched. Sara drew her arm back towards her body. The incident in the hallway, as she'd started referring to it, had awakened something within her. He'd managed to bruise her heart again, but that hadn't stopped her from wanting him in the purest, basest way imaginable.

And if the way he shifted in his seat in discomfort was any indication, he was feeling the same thing.

"So…" Nick started, hoping to land on a topic of conversation that wouldn't send Sara on a bad trip down memory lane. When he couldn't come up with one, and everyone was waiting, he sighed. "Should we order?"

They did, and while they waited for the food to arrive, the conversation geared itself towards neutral topics, mostly recent cases. Sara tried to keep up, but eventually the references to people she'd never met, events she'd not witnessed got to be overwhelming. She found herself devoting much of her attention to her fettuccine alfredo when it finally arrived.

Greg was in the middle of a detailed retelling of his interrogation of a particularly overzealous and coked-out hooker when Sara realized Grissom wasn't listening to the younger man either. He was watching her.

She set down her fork and leaned as close to him as she could without drawing anyone's notice. "What's on my face?"

He blinked. "Nothing. I was just…" He eyed the group, but they were all occupied with Greg's story. Still, he lowered his voice. "As you pointed out, we haven't seen each other in half a year." He paused without elaborating. "Sara, what happened this afternoon…"

"I know," she interrupted. "It was just the heat of the moment." When he frowned, she continued, "Wasn't it?"

"You didn't give me a chance to finish what I was going to say to Karen."

Sara reached for her wine, to give her hands something to do. "What were you going to say to her about us?"

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, but his pager cut him off. Sara closed her eyes, smiling ruefully. Such was life.

"You'd better check that," she told him when it beeped again.

"Sara, I…" Another beep.

She could feel Nick's curious stare on them. "I'd do the same," Sara told him, speaking as quietly as she could. "The job comes first, right?"

"I don't know anymore."

If she looked into the water blue of his eyes any longer, she'd drown. "Go ahead, Grissom. This is something I could never hold against you."

Reluctantly, he withdrew the device from the inside of his jacket and examined the tiny screen. "419. Swing shift is tapped out." He replaced it. "You could come. Old times sake?"

"I'm not an employee of the Las Vegas Crime Labanymore," she reminded him. "You'll have to take Greg."

"Where am I going?" Greg asked, hearing his name.

"To Grissom's crime scene," Sara answered for him. "Better hurry."

"Sara," Grissom tried again.

"See you in court," she told him before turning to Nick's date. "So, Jessica. Where do you want to travel?"

Greg stood up at the same time as Grissom. "I'm ready whenever you are, boss," he said, pulling on his coat.

Grissom gazed at Sara as she smiled at whatever Jessica was gushing about. Finally, he forced himself to look away. "Let's go."

* * *

Having spent more than her fair share of time in the cheap motels Las Vegas had to offer, Sara had decided to splurge when it came time to reserve a room for the length of the trial. She had a modest, but clean room in the Sphere and to her mind, it was worth the expense to know that it was significantly less likely that she was sleeping on unwashed sheets. 

Dinner had ended sans dessert when most of the group had to leave in order to be on time for work. On her way back to the hotel, Sara had her cab driver stop at a store where she picked up a pint of cookie dough ice cream, something she hadn't been able to find in London, despite a fair amount of searching.

The ice cream waited for her in the mini-fridge while she took a steamy bath. She made the water as hot as she could stand and relaxed in it until it turned tepid. Finally, Sara forced herself out of the bathroom. Wrapped in a hotel robe, her wet hair twisted up in a towel, she climbed into bed with her treat.

And not a minute later, just as she spooned a big, cold bite into her mouth, the phone rang.

Better to sound idiotic than swallow and risk brain freeze. Sara reached for the receiver. "Hu-woah?" she said around the ice cream.

"Um…yes. Is this room 212?"

She swallowed. And regretted it a second later. "Grissom?" Sara put a hand to her aching forehead. "How did you know where I'm staying?"

"Sara," he said, reproachfully.

"Right. Sorry. Didn't mean to question your mad investigative skills." As the pain started to recede, she began to hear strange noises in the background. "Where are you?"

"The lobby."

"But…" She licked the sticky corner of her lip. "What about your crime scene? You can't be done with it."

"That's what we keep Greg around for. To pick up the slack." There was a pause. "Is it all right if I come up?"

Underneath her robe, she was wearing nothing but very flimsy underwear. "Give me a minute."

He gave her five, and it was plenty of time for her to change into pajama pants and a soft, long sleeved cotton shirt. She freed her damp hair from the towel and ran a comb through it. When he finally knocked on the door, she had just enough time to stash the ice cream in the fridge, erasing all traces of her splurge.

"Hey," Sara greeted him, a bit breathless and not entirely because she'd rushed to get ready. He was still in his nice clothes from the restaurant, but his collar was undone at his throat. Casual, sexy Grissom. It was enough to make any woman flustered.

He waited until a couple had passed by them in the hall before he asked, "Can we talk? Inside?"

Letting Grissom into her hotel room. As a plan, it had a high probability of ending in disaster, embarrassment or worse, heartache. But she nodded and allowed him in.

"It's a nice room," he noted.

"Best of all, we've never been called out to it." She closed the door. "I checked."

Grissom smiled. "Of course you did." His smile faded slightly. "I probably shouldn't be here at all," he began. "But you have to know that this afternoon…I wasn't trying to tell Karen that there's nothing between us."

"You weren't?"

"No. I was going to tell her that there wasn't anything between us at the time of the Julia Sommers investigation."

Sara crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry. I should have let you finish telling her that."

"Telling her there's nothing between us would have been a lie. There's always been something between us, Sara."

"I know. I just didn't always know that you knew it."

Grissom ran a hand down his beard. "Do you know that those few minutes we spent outside of Karen's door today were the first in months in which I've felt alive?"

The weight of his admission pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. "I do. Because I feel the same way."

"Sara…" He approached her with caution. "I want to feel alive again."

All she could do was nod. "Me, too."

It happened again. She had no idea who grabbed whom, whose lips met the other's first, who started it all. But it was just as good, if not better than before. And this time, there was no one around to interrupt them.

_

* * *

_

Say you'll stay, don't come and go

Like you do

Sway my way, yeah I need to know

All about you

- Bic Runga

* * *

To Be Continued 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thank you everyone for all the kind reviews thus far. I know I say this every time, but I really am always appreciative. And I want to make sure y'all know it;)

* * *

Letting Go 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Say goodnight not goodbye 

You will never leave my heart behind

Like the path of a star

I'll be anywhere you are

You are everything you want to be

So just let your heart reach out to me

I'll be right by your side

Say goodnight not goodbye

- Beth Neilson Chapman

* * *

_Sara,_

_A young couple, most likely on their honeymoon, is sitting across from me in the lobby. They can't keep their hands off of each other. Is it wrong that I want to shake the groom by his shoulders and tell him to never let go of the good thing he's found? I wish someone had done the same for me ten years ago. If they had, I'm fairly certain I would be upstairs making love to you right now, instead of down here writing you this note._

_But I understand that we can't go from friends (although I think that word inadequately describes our relationship) to lovers in the course of a single day. As much as I wish I could wake up next to you in the morning, I know that we'd both wake up with regrets. Not about being together, never about being together, but about how the sudden change will affect our entire world. We're methodical people, Sara; we can't escape ourselves and leap without looking, even if that initial freefall would be exhilarating._

_I need you to understand that leaving your room a few minutes ago was the most difficult thing I've ever done in my entire life. Still, I have to believe that in the long run, our decision to take our time will pay off._

_Now if only my body could be convinced._

_Thinking of you always,_

_Gil_

* * *

"All rise. This court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Harriet Keely presiding." 

The judge, a formidable woman in her late forties, ascended the bench. "You may be seated," she ordered. "Ms. Darver, call your witness."

Karen rose just long enough to reply, "The State calls Dr. Gil Grissom."

When his name was called, Grissom rose from his seat in the very last row. He'd been one of the last people through the courtroom doors, and now he was the prosecution's first witness. He didn't mind getting his testimony out of the way. But it was a hell of way to see Sara again for the first time since he'd left her hotel room.

She was sitting two rows back from the ADA's table, looking pale in the harsh light of the courtroom, but steady. He'd been watching her profile as Callie Lamb entered, led by her lawyer. She hadn't so much as flinched. He'd been proud.

Now her eyes followed him as he made his way up to the podium. Even as he was sworn in, he could feel her stare. Rather than unnerve him, Grissom felt reinforced. He knew his testimony would help put Sara's kidnapper, crazy or not, in jail for a long time. It was the very least he could do for her.

Especially after everything that had happened between them the last time they were together.

_Her mouth tasted like chocolate chip cookies. Her tongue was cold, but the rest of her body was on fire. And he could touch her…god, he could finally touch her in all the ways he'd only imagined in his dreams._

_What kind of shampoo did she use that made him want to bury his face in her tresses and never come up for air? And why did she fit so perfectly in his arms, alongside his chest? No other woman had ever molded to him so instantly or so well. Just Sara._

_Nimble fingers were pulling at his shirt buttons. His own fingers sought out the bottom of her pliant shirt, tugging it up the smooth length of her back. Without hesitation, she lifted her arms, letting him pull the fabric up over her head. It landed on the carpet carelessly. His shirt joined it a second later._

_And then skin met skin and she was soft, so much softer than she let on to the rest of the world. There was nothing fake about Sara, just the real thing, perfectly shaped and now perfectly pressed against him._

_Still kissing her, he never wanted to stop kissing her, he let his hands cup her softness. Her moan of pleasure was nearly his undoing. He…_

"Dr. Grissom." The ADA looked at the twelve jurors. "For the record, can you please tell us a little bit about your background?"

Clearing his head of everything but the trial, he replied, "I hold Bachelor and Masters Degrees, as well as a PhD in Biology, all from UCLA. Currently, I am the Graveyard Shift Supervisor for the Las Vegas Police Department's Crime Lab. And I'm a Level III Crime Scene Investigator with over twenty years of field experience."

The questions went on from there, recounting the investigation into Julia Sommers' death. But then it started to get personal.

"How do you know Sara Sidle, Dr. Grissom?" Karen asked.

He cleared his throat. "Until six months ago, she was an employee of the crime lab, under my supervision."

"You were her boss when the alleged kidnapping took place?" She used the word "alleged" exactly as he would have, with a great amount of disdain for the legal formality.

"Yes."

She paused for a second. "Tell us about that day."

If it was this hard for him to return his mind to that day, how hard must it be for Sara? He did as the ADA asked, recounting the events leading up to his panicked visit to Sara's apartment.

"Why were you worried for your CSI, Dr. Grissom?" Karen asked.

Grissom blew out a short breath. "At the time, she was being counseled by the primary suspect in the murder of Julia Sommers, who had also been counseled by the same man."

"Dr. Lawton Forbes," she clarified. "And when did you realize that Ms. Sidle was missing?"

"Several hours later, when another CSI, Greg Sanders, informed me that he couldn't reach her. Before that, she was never out of contact. Her cell phone was always on; it's part of our job. And Sara…Ms. Sidle…was nothing if not dedicated to the job."

_She was determined to drive him crazy with the little noises of pleasure she emitted as he explored her body. Somehow they'd made it to the bed. He was now sitting with her straddling his lap. The heat from the center of her body was maddening, rubbing against long neglected parts of him through layers of cotton._

_Twenty-four hours ago, he'd thought she was on the other side of the world. But now she was back, and they were half-naked and twisted up in each other, about to go over the edge into everything he'd ever wanted._

_And yet, as much as he wanted to take the plunge and damn the consequences, they were still going to be there in the morning. And they were going to be big._

_"Sara," he whispered, nearly out of breath. "Are we…rushing this?"_

_Her lips found the place where his ear met his neck. "Six years of foreplay hasn't been enough for you?" Her throaty chuckle made everything harder._

_Six years, his ass. Try ten. From the moment she'd blown him a taunting kiss across the parking lot after stealing the last free space right out from under him, making him late for his own lecture. He hadn't recognized himself since._

_"I want you," he told her, closing his eyes as her tongue traced the contours of his ear. "You have no idea…" Steeling himself, he gently grasped her bare shoulders, pushing her back. "But what happens tomorrow?"_

_She studied him, her eyes moving back and forth between his. "You're retreating. Already."_

_"And you're shaking. Maybe…it's not just because of what we're doing."_

_She threw her head back and looked at the ceiling for a long moment. The pure line of her throat was like a bare canvas, waiting for him to paint it with kisses. Before he gave in to the urge, she dropped her chin back down. "If you hadn't stopped, I would have." The delicate tips of her fingers stroked his beard. "I want you, too. But when I left, it was with the intention of finding the person I used to be."_

_"Have you found her yet?"_

_She climbed off his lap and picked her shirt up off the floor. "No."_

"What was Ms. Sidle's condition when you and Captain Brass found her?"

Grissom blinked. "We found her four miles off Highway 95 in the Wildlife Refuge. She was…badly sunburned. Suffering from heat exhaustion. When we reached her, we weren't sure if she was…" Behind the podium, his fingers dug into his palms. "…dead or alive. The paramedics were five minutes behind us, so we checked to see if she was breathing. She was. Then I tried to wake her."

He allowed himself a peek at her face in the crowd. There was moisture on her cheeks.

"Upon waking, did Ms. Sidle say anything to you?"

_Love you. I love you…Gil._

"Anything about her kidnapper?" Karen prompted.

"Objection," the defense lawyer argued. "Leading."

The judge replied, "Overruled. The witness may answer."

Grissom shook his head. "No. She was rushed to the hospital. And I didn't see her until later. By that time, she'd already given her statement."

Karen nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Grissom." Walking back to her seat, she told the opposing council, "Your witness."

_He did his own buttons back up, but he'd never be able to wear the shirt again without remembering how she'd stripped him of it. When the last one was done up, and the tails tucked back into his pants, he looked at her._

_She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, like a girl, not the woman she'd been, wrapped around him minutes earlier. Her hair was half-dried in tangled waves around her shoulders. Every instinct compelled him to go back to her, but he couldn't undo what was done._

_"Goodnight," he told her, one hand on the doorknob._

_She looked up, but her eyes didn't quite reach his, settling instead a bit lower on his face. "Bye."_

"Dr. Grissom, you had been at Ms. Sidle's apartment on that day," the defense attorney asked.

"Yes."

"You had seen her, she was fine, and then you left."

"Yes." Grissom glanced at Karen; she was frowning. That couldn't be a good sign.

Callie's lawyer approached the witness stand. "And where did you go after you left Ms. Sidle's apartment?"

His stomach dropped two feet. "Where did I…"

"Objection." Karen shot to her feet. "Relevance?"

"The prosecution established their timeline, Your Honor, but they left out several pieces that I find interesting."

The judge thought for a second. "I'll give you some leeway. But not much."

Nodding, Callie's lawyer looked back at Grissom. "It was almost six months ago. I'd understand if you need to be reminded."

Across the courtroom, Sara gave him a puzzled look. He let his eyes linger on her for a final second before he gave his answer. "I went to see a friend."

"Does this friend have a name?"

Grissom swallowed. "Her name is Heather."

"Heather." The lawyer paused for effect. "Perhaps better known as Lady Heather?"

If he'd been looking at Sara, he would have seen recognition of the name in her eyes. She might never have worked a case that involved the woman, but with the lab's rumor mill, she was sure to know more about her than Grissom would have liked her to.

"It's her professional name, yes."

"And what is her profession?"

He was trapped and under oath. "She runs what is best described as a fetish house."

"A brothel? They are legal in some parts of the state."

Grissom gritted his teeth. "No. As I said, it's a fetish house."

"I see. Any particular fetish?"

He could feel Sara's stare boring into him. "Bondage. Domination and submission."

"So, let me get this straight. After you left your CSI's apartment…you went straight to the house of a whips and chains dominatrix?"

Karen finally interjected. "Objection! Does the defense have a point to make or are we just chatting here?"

"Goes to character of the witness, Your Honor," Callie's lawyer retorted.

"Wrap it up," Judge Heely ordered.

He smiled. "That's all. The defense has no further questions for this witness."

"Dr. Grissom, you may step down."

When he passed by Sara's row, she turned her head away from him. His heart sank.

"Call your next witness, Ms. Darver."

Karen cleared her throat. "The prosecution requests a ten minute break, Your Honor."

"Done." With a bang of her gavel, the judge made it official. "Court is in recess."

Grissom stood with everyone else until the judge had stepped down. As the crowd began to disperse, he saw Sara. She was heading straight for the exit as fast as possible.

He tried to go after her, but Karen caught him first.

"How in the hell did the defense know where you were after you left Sara's apartment?" she demanded to know.

"I was going to ask you the same question," Grissom shot back. "The only thing I can think is that they did their homework. They must have been fishing around for some dirt on me, and they found her."

Karen sighed. "Some people saw you there, maybe?"

"A few of her staff, yes."

"Great. I mean, I knew they'd have to bring out the big guns to call your character into question. But you could have given me some warning that they might actually be able to find something this big."

Grissom glanced at the exit. Sara was already out of sight; he didn't have time to argue. "Karen, I have to…" He pointed to the doors.

"Yeah. Go." She waved him away. "I've got damage control to do."

* * *

He caught up with Sara in the courthouse vestibule. She was standing in a beam of sunshine from the skylight, but her expression was anything but joyful. As he approached, she backed away from him. 

"Let me explain," he started.

"There's nothing to explain." She wet her lips, making them glisten. "While I was fighting to stay alive in the desert…you were with a woman who makes a living off of pain and degradation."

Grissom shook his head. "It's not like that, Sara."

"Oh." She let out something resembling a strangled chuckle. "I suppose you two just had a cup of tea together."

"Actually…"

"I know you slept with her," she cut him off, her voice small. "Everyone knows you slept with her. But I didn't know…you were still…" Sara shook her head. With each word, her tone grew harsher. "I grew up watching my father beat my mother. There is nothing erotic about pain, Grissom. That you could be with a woman who thinks there is…" Still shaking her head, she backed away even further. "I don't know if I can look at you the same way."

Somewhere, buried deep beneath his guilt, a spark of irritation flared up. "What happened between me and Heather was over and done with a long time ago. She is a friend in the sense that I value her opinion. But that's all there is to it. As for her profession, I don't agree with it. I've never agreed with it. But I don't judge her for it." He paused. "And if you do, I'm not sure I can look at you the same way."

There was a long, excruciating pause. Finally, Sara pushed a tear away with a flick of her thumb. "I guess I just don't understand one thing. Why her? Why could you risk everything for her…but not me?"

"She wasn't special to me."

Her eyes were wide and wet. "And…I am?"

Grissom frowned. "Why are you acting like you didn't already know? Wasn't the letter pretty clear?"

"Letter? What letter?"

"What do you mean, 'what letter'? The letter! The letter I sent you that said everything! The one you chose to ignore."

"Grissom, I don't know what you're talking about. You never wrote to me while I was away. I got letters from everyone. I got two in one week from Greg alone. But from you? Nothing."

"You never got the letter?" he breathed.

Sara shook her head. "You sent me a letter?" Nibbling on her lip, she dared to ask, "What did it say?"

He stepped towards her and she let him reach for her hand. "It said…"

"Vegas!"

She looked past him, over his shoulder. Her expression melted into confused amazement. "Simon? Oh my god…"

Grissom turned his head to see a tall, good-looking man of about thirty sauntering over to them, a broad smile on his slightly stubbled face. His blue suit was rumpled, like he'd slept in it. And he had a press badge clipped to his belt. But more importantly, he was heading straight for Sara without even giving Grissom so much as a glance. When he reached her, the man named Simon planted a kiss right on Sara's lips.

It was entirely possible to hate someone on first sight.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me for the most part. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone for their continued interest in my little story;) 'Til next time!

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

I used to take you at face value

You spoke, I listened, and the only thing missin' was the truth

You talk the talk

But you don't walk the walk, and I've had my fill

Goin' on like this is so absurd

I'm sick of these words, words, words

- Jessica Andrews

* * *

_Dear Sara,_

_Greetings from the Mother Country. London is bloody cold. And boring, now that you're gone. In the wake of your departure, I've been hitting a lot of pubs that Doc Ashe recommended and I'm turning into what the British affectionately refer to as a slag. But then again, I might have been one already._

_It's always been a dream of mine to live in a hotel, but I'll have to settle for living vicariously through you. The Sphere…not too shabby. It's one place that, until now, I've never sent mail to._

_And now we come to the reason for my letter. It falls upon me to tell you that our intrepid boy reporter is no longer with us. Apparently the funding for his article ran out and he either had to appeal for more money or do with what he's got so far. He picked the latter and left a couple of days ago. Really quickly, I might add, which explains why he left one of his journals behind here at the IFFS center._

_I wasn't going to look, but you know me and curiosity. We're eternally bonded. So, yeah, I went through his stuff. And I found something that might interest you. A letter to you from Gil Grissom. Is that the entomologist Gil Grissom, by the way? My friend Terri dated that Gil Grissom once, but he blew her off on their first date. What a jerk. Sorry, way off the subject. And kind of rude of me if it's the same guy._

_It's your letter and Simon had it. Because I don't want to think badly of someone who looked so damn good in jeans, until I hear otherwise from you, I'm going to assume he had it with your permission. If you want it, let me know and I'll either keep it until you get back, or mail it to you straight away. Straight away. How British am I?_

_Take care. And Merry Christmas._

_Jan_

* * *

This is what happened when worlds collided. And to her great dismay, Sara was caught in the middle.

"Who's your friend, Vegas?" Simon asked, acknowledging Grissom for the first time.

Still reeling from his sudden appearance and even more sudden kiss, Sara could barely process it all. Grissom and Simon under the same roof. This had to be a bad dream and if she just waited long enough, the alarm would go off and wake her up.

Any minute now.

Finally, Grissom extended his hand to the younger man. "Gil Grissom."

"Simon Christiansen." He took Grissom's hand in a firm shake. "Any friend of Sara's is a friend of mine."

If she'd been looking at Grissom's face, she would have seen the smile he reserved for criminals he was about to put away for life. "Indeed."

Sara gave up on the alarm; this was one bad dream she'd just have to live out. "Simon is doing an article on Bosnia," she explained to Grissom. "He was with our IFFS team for research." Shaking her head, she asked Simon, "What are you doing here?"

He flashed her a smile and his press pass. "Covering the trial. Officially, I'm on Christmas break, but trust me, I'd rather spend it working and hanging out with you than with my sister and her spoiled brats." He rubbed his hands together. "I'm not too late for the good stuff, am I?"

She could feel Grissom eyes on her. "We should be getting back in there. Ten minutes is almost up," she said.

"Then let's go!" Simon hooked her arm through his. "And after court, you can show me around your town, Vegas." He nodded at Grissom. "You can come, too. The more, the merrier, right?"

Grissom continued to look at Sara as he replied, "No thanks. I'll leave painting the town to the younger generation." He looked at his watch. "I need to get to the lab, anyways."

"Grissom!" Sara called out as he started to walk away. He stopped, but didn't turn back around. "Retreating?"

Glancing back at her, he shook his head. "Conceding." There was a pause. "Have a good time with your friend."

When he was gone, Simon gestured to the courtroom doors. "Shall we?"

"Why not?" Sara extracted her arm from his grip. "This day can't get any worse."

* * *

"Aw, c'mon man! You can't just stop there." Greg took a huge bite of pizza and mumbled around it, "You got back to the house and then…what?"

Nick shook his own slice at the younger man. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

Catherine made a scoffing sound. "Only when he hasn't done any kissing to tell about."

"All I'm gonna say is that Jessica and I had a great night." He popped a pepperoni slice into his mouth. "End of story."

"Uh-oh," Warrick said. "Looks like our boy is serious about this one. Are we gonna be planning a bachelor party sometime soon?"

Nick shrugged, a mysterious smile on his face. "I'll let y'all know in plenty of time to hire a really classy…"

Grissom stalked into the break room just then, interrupting their pizza brunch, a well-deserved reward after a long double shift. "I need a favor," he announced without any further greeting.

Setting down her slice, Catherine blotted her lips with a paper towel. "What's wrong? Why aren't you in court?"

"I'm done for the day," he answered impatiently. "Did anyone hear what I…"

"How did it go?" Nick asked. "How's Sara holding up?"

Grissom glared at his CSI. "It went fine, if having my credibility shattered on the witness stand qualifies as 'fine.' And Sara's holding up just great now that her boyfriend from Bosnia has arrived."

Warrick arched an eyebrow. "We miss everything when we pull double shifts."

"Sara has a boy toy?" Catherine frowned. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd say."

"And it's not me?" Greg pouted. "Words cannot adequately express my disappointment."

Upon seeing the growing tick in Grissom's eye, Nick held up his hand, bringing the chatter to an end. "What's the favor, Gris?"

"Simon Christiansen."

"Is that the boy toy?"

He turned his glare onto Catherine. "I want to know everything about him. Who he is, where he comes from and what he's done along the way."

"Are you looking for something specific?" Warrick asked.

"No."

Greg looked around at his co-workers. "But you think he might have a record?

Grissom scowled. "It wouldn't surprise me. Regardless, I just…" He stopped.

"You just what?" Tipping her head to the side, Catherine studied him. "What, Gil?"

"I just…can't let her get hurt again." He walked to the door. "Let me know when you find something."

"'When' we find something," Catherine repeated a minute later. "Not 'if,' but 'when'." She picked up her pizza. "That open mind of his really comes and goes, doesn't it?"

* * *

Even after living in the city for six years, sometimes Sara felt like just another tourist in Las Vegas. Hopelessly lost, dwarfed by the casinos and surrounded by nothing but a desert that, after her experience in it, she couldn't even find beautiful anymore. She was hardly fit to play tour guide to anyone. So why was she in Ghostbar at the Palms at two a.m. after a long day in court, sipping her second beer and watching Simon get hit on by girls who couldn't be old enough to legally drink?

Fifty-five stories separated her from the rest of the city, and if she looked down, she could see every inch of that space through the acrylic floor. But she wasn't going to do that, no matter how many times Simon insisted she had to. He'd managed to get her up here, but that was as far as her tour guide duties went.

In fact, her patience was starting to run a little thin. She set down her beer on the nearest table and tapped Simon on the shoulder.

He spun around, a gleam in his eye. "Time for another round?" he yelled over the pounding music.

"Time for bed," she yelled back. The gleam turned into a leer and she had to correct herself, "Alone. I have to be back in court tomorrow."

"Six hours from now." Simon reached for her hand. "Sure I can't convince you to dance?"

"You really don't want to see me dance."

"I really beg to differ on that." When he saw that she wasn't going to give in, Simon sighed, dramatically. "All right. Let's go"

He had a car and she didn't, so Sara let him drive her back to the Sphere. He pulled up to the valet parking area and got out at the same time she did.

"I'm seeing you to your door," he explained.

Sara frowned. "Why?"

"Because my mother always said that's what you did at the end of a date."

"But…this wasn't a date."

Simon grinned. "We had dinner, saw a show, played the slots and ended up in the hottest bar in town. What would you call that?"

"Sara Sidle's one-time only whirlwind Las Vegas experience?"

"Maybe." He tossed the valet attendant his car keys. "But back home, we call it a date."

She gave in. It was kind of cute. After the short elevator ride up to her floor, Sara let him see her all the way to her room.

"No nightcap?" he asked.

Sara was only half listening to him. The white edge of an envelope stuck out underneath her door. She unlocked the door and bent down to pick it up.

"What's that?"

She walked into the room as she tore into the letter. Simon followed her without an official invitation. "It's from Jan," Sara answered his question.

He froze for a second. "Jan? Our Jan? Why would our Jan be writing you a letter?"

"Let's find out."

"Or…" Simon located the mini-bar. "We could just have that nightcap."

But Sara was already reading. It only took her a few seconds, but when she finished, she looked up at him with cold eyes.

"What was in the letter, Simon?"

He gave her a puzzled look. "How should I know? You just finished reading it."

"Don't even play dumb with me." Sara held up Jan's letter. "Seems you left something behind in London. Only it wasn't something of yours; it was something of mine. A letter. A letter addressed to me. A letter I really would have liked to have gotten. Is it all coming back to you now?"

Cornered, Simon could only nod. "Okay. Yes. I intercepted a letter you got from your boss. But if you knew why…"

Anger coursed through every vein in her body. She was sure she was beet red with it. It was the kind of anger that couldn't even be expressed in coherent thought. "I don't care why, Simon," she managed to spit out. "Just leave before I call hotel security."

"Just let me explain, Vegas…"

"To hell with hotel security. I know just about every cop in this city and I can have a dozen of them here in a matter of minutes. And I will if you don't leave right now!"

Simon plunged his hands into his hair. "I did it for you!"

_I did it for you._ Her mother had used that excuse years earlier when Sara had finally gathered the courage to ask her why she done what she did. _I did it for you._

She said the same thing to him that she'd said to her mother. "I don't believe you."

"I swear," he went on. "Look, I made the mistake of falling for my boss. My editor at the paper. And it was great. She was great. Until seven months ago when I broke up with her. She didn't take it so well. She pretty much did everything in her power to end my career. I thought Bosnia would be too far for her claws to reach, but she got me there, too. So now I'm stuck with a half-finished article and no paper or magazine in southern California will hire me. All because I made the mistake of sleeping with the boss." He took a breath. "I didn't want that to happen to you someday."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about my situation, Simon. But even if you did, it's none of your business. My life…my choices." She shook her head. "You didn't do this for me. You did this for yourself. And you got caught." She walked to the door and opened it up. "So unless you want the entire Las Vegas Police Department up your ass tonight, I suggest you get the hell out of here."

He hesitated a second before heading towards the door. He stopped right in front of her with the saddest expression. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Goodbye, Simon."

She slammed the door shut behind him, but her anger didn't dissipate. If anything, it just grew, bubbling over in her chest until she couldn't breathe. There would be only one way to release it. And only one person to release it on.

* * *

When Grissom opened his front door to stop the incessant knocking, the last person he expected to see was the woman standing on his stoop. The look on her face could have frightened away a lion. And it was directed straight at him.

"Conceding!" Sara pushed past him, straight into hallway. She spun back around to face him. "You're conceding! What the hell was that supposed to mean?"

Grissom closed the door. He hadn't been sleeping; his body was far too conditioned to sleep during the day. Still, he wasn't exactly dressed for a confrontation, being that he was in his oldest pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from the Millennium Force coaster at Cedar Point. "Sara, I…"

She threw up her hand. "Shut up. That was a rhetorical question. I know exactly what you meant by it. You saw another man show some microscopic sign of interest in me and your first instinct was to forget everything that had happened between us, and jump to the automatic conclusion that I was stringing you along while I kept a boy toy on the sidelines. I can't believe you! Will you ever trust me? Or is this what life with you would be like? Constantly on guard, always aware that at any second, you could get spooked and call the whole thing off? I couldn't live like that, Grissom. And if that's all you could ever give me, tell me now. Tell me right now so I can cry and…and eat ice cream and listen to sappy music…whatever it takes get you out of my system. So I can finally…_finally _move on."

He looked down at the grey tile floor. "Am I allowed to talk now?"

"Make it good," she snapped.

"I have only ever wanted your happiness."

"Why do you get to decide what's going to make me happy?" She almost choked on a bitter laugh. "When did I start letting men decide my life for me? You and Lawton…Kevin…and now Simon. Everyone thinks they know what's best for me! I am so tired of it! This isn't me! Sara Sidle makes her own choices. She came to Vegas of her own free will. Sure, she wanted to see you again and see if maybe she wasn't just imagining interest on your part, but in the end, she really came because of the job. She wanted to be a CSI in the best crime lab in the country. She wanted to make a difference."

Grissom watched her, awestruck. This was the woman of passion he remembered. This was Sara Sidle. "Sara…" He moved towards her tentatively. "I think you found her."

Her chest rose and fell with each breath. "What did the letter say, Grissom?"

His expression clouded over. "Does it matter now?" His words weren't harsh, merely tired.

She blinked back hot tears. "It matters even more now."

"Even after today?"

Sara lifted her shoulders. "I've never met Heather. Maybe she's a great person with a terrific sense of humor. But if you're going to get insanely jealous of someone as insignificant as Simon, I'm certainly allowed to have my issues with her."

Grissom inclined his head. "Okay." He fortified himself with a deep breath. "The letter said…everything I've never been able to tell you."

"And I'm supposed to know what that is?" Sara closed her eyes. "Whatever it was, Grissom, good or bad…I can take it. I have to know. Please."

Instead of hearing words, she felt lips gently brushing across hers. "I love you."

Her eyes popped open. "What?"

"I love you," he repeated. There was something akin to a rush of relief in his words, as if it felt good to say them. "I didn't just say it in the desert because it was a life or death situation. I've always been in love with you, Sara."

"You love me? You love me."

Grissom nodded. "I'm just sorry that the first time you heard the words had to be after such an ordeal."

"You told me you loved me that night?"

"You knew that." He frowned. "Didn't you?"

Her hair swung back and forth over her shoulders. "I can't remember. So much of that night is a blur. I remember you being there, but I don't remember…that." A smile slowly spread on her face. "You love me."

He nodded. "And it scares the hell out of me."

"Me, too."

"I got spooked today. I admit it." Grissom drew in a breath. "I wish I could say it was just an after effect of having my character called into question on the stand. But it wasn't. Seeing another man be so comfortable with you…when I can't even hold your hand in public…" He paused. "I hate it. And it's just easier to take myself out of the equation."

Sara shook her head. "We've never even tried to be together. How can you be so sure of what we could or couldn't do?"

"Sara, you were my employee. At best it would have made our work together awkward. At worst, it could have gotten us both fired."

"Well. I'm not your employee now. Simon is gone, for good I hope. We're not in public." She approached him and put her hand over his heart. "And you love me."

He didn't need to be a very smart man to catch on. "What about not rushing things?"

"That was then. This is now. And the old Sara Sidle wouldn't ever kick you out of her bed."

She was about to kiss him. In a matter of seconds, it would be too late to turn back. Grissom's senses were overwhelmed with her, but he was just able to get out, "You have to testify tomorrow." Her lips hovered less than an inch away from his. "You need to sleep before then.

"Don't you have a bed?"

He swallowed heavily. "If you stay here, Sara, you won't be sleeping."

She smiled coyly as she stepped back. "Fair enough." A moment passed and her tone grew more somber. "I'm going to put her away. Not because of what she did to me. For Julia."

"For Julia," he echoed.

He walked her to her waiting cab a few minutes later. Back in his house, with the faintest traces of her alluring scent lingering all around him, Grissom was finally able to rest.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks again for all the kind reviews;) This will be my last update before Christmas; I'm taking a wee bit of a break. So, enjoy. And have a very happy whatever you happen to celebrate! If I'm not back before then, see you in the new year!

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

I believe it's meant to be, darlin'

I want you when you are sleeping

You belong to me

Do you feel the same?

Am I only dreaming?

Or is this burning an eternal flame?

Say my name, sun shines through the rain

My whole life, so lonely

Now come and ease the pain

I don't wanna lose this feeling

- The Bangles

* * *

_Criminal Action 05-CR-41-D, the People vs. Callie Marie Lamb, defendant._

_We, the jury, upon our oaths, unanimously find as follows:_

_Count 1, Murder in the First Degree: Not guilty _

_Count 2, Assault with a Deadly Weapon: Guilty _

_Count 3, Attempted Murder: Guilty _

_Count 4, Unlawful Kidnapping: Guilty _

_Count 5, Assault against a Law Enforcement Officer: Guilty_

_Dated 22 December, Miguel D. Lorenzo, Foreperson_

* * *

"Nog?"

Sara looked at her full cup, then at the identical one Greg held out to her. "I'm good. Thanks."

He shrugged and took a swig, leaving a foamy moustache behind. "Call me crazy, but I don't think you're getting into the holiday spirit, Sara. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."

She hid a smile by pretending to take a sip. "You're not crazy. In this regard, at least."

All around them, the crime lab's yearly party raged. Perhaps 'raged' was an exaggeration. With the exception of the egg nog, which itself had only enough rum to qualify as non-store bought, there was no alcohol being served. Christmas or not, after the party, the LVPD still had work to do.

"I get what's going on," Greg sympathized. "It was a sucky call. I mean, those twelve idiots basically said she's too crazy to be held accountable for actual murder, even though they were absolutely sure she was just crazy enough to try to kill you." He sighed. "But at least Callie Lamb won't be out on the streets before she needs a walker to get around."

"The D.A. jumped the gun." Nick joined them. Instead of egg nog, he had a club soda in his hand. And a Santa hat on his head. "He shouldn't have gone for murder one."

Sara agreed, but it was impossible to take him seriously at the moment. "I appreciate the support, you two, but I've had a whole day to get over it. Right now, I'm trying very hard to get into the Christmas spirit. So, Nick…" She flicked the white pom-pom on his hat. "What's up with this?"

"Ongoing bet with Warrick," he grumbled.

"Do I even want to know over what?"

He and Greg exchanged a look. "No, you don't," Nick replied.

She might have been inclined to press further if Grissom hadn't entered the room just then. To the best of her recollection, Grissom had never so much as stopped by the lab Christmas party, at least not during the six years she'd attended them as an employee. This year she was merely Greg's "plus one." She would have liked to have been the "plus one" of the man standing in the entrance to the hotel ballroom, nervously adjusting his tie, but she hadn't seen him since court the day before when the verdict had been announced.

Still, she was suddenly very glad she'd given herself the little red dress in the window that swung three inches above her knees and gave her actual cleavage for Christmas.

Greg followed her eye line all the way to Grissom. "So this is the end of the world as we know it." He took another swig of nog. "And I do feel fine!"

Nick watched as Grissom spotted them. The older man's eyes immediately found Sara's and didn't waver from then on. He moved through the crowd of their co-workers, approaching them a moment later.

"Nog?" Greg asked him.

"No." Grissom paused. "Sara, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Um…sure." She handed her glass off to Nick. "Bye, guys."

Greg shook his head as Grissom led Sara away. "What happens to you and Warrick's bet if they hook up tonight?"

"I'll ask and get back to you." Nick raised Sara's glass into the air. "Grissom, have yourself a merry little Christmas, man."

* * *

Christmas in Las Vegas was generally no different than any other night, but Sara could have sworn that the lights were just a little bit brighter that year. The air was crisper, the world was a little more peaceful. And Grissom was standing next to her on the ballroom balcony, offering her his coat.

"It's cold," he explained.

His body had warmed the heavy fabric for her. Slipping her arms into the sleeves was like embracing him. "Thanks."

A few moments passed while below them, the city celebrated the holiday. Sara looked up at the full moon, unaware of Grissom's eyes on her. When she finally turned to look at him, he had moved close enough to her that their arms touched.

"You did everything right, Sara," he told her, speaking up to be heard over the whip of the winter wind. "Your case was simply stronger than Julia's."

"I know." She gave him a little smile. "It's fine, Grissom." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Really," Sara insisted. "If there's one thing my time with IFFS has taught me, it's that justice is a rare and precious thing. The people I spent the past six months unearthing…their killers will never be found. But I'm lucky. I got justice for what happened to me. And through me, so did Julia."

"And you're okay with that?"

She thought, then nodded. "I am."

Grissom shook his head, marveling at her. "You're somewhat amazing. You know that?"

"Just somewhat?" She faced him, tucking long, loose strands of hair behind her ear. "Grissom…"

"Gil," he said. "That night in the desert, you called me 'Gil.' I liked it."

"Gil." Sara paused. "It'll take some getting used to."

Ignoring the usual warning bells that went off in his head whenever he entered dangerous emotional territory, Grissom blurted out, "Spend Christmas Eve with me."

She searched the blue centers of his eyes. "Don't you have family obligations? Your mother? Uncle?"

"I spend Thanksgiving with my mother, so I can work on Christmas."

"Right." Sara inched her fingers closer to his on the stone railing. "My first Christmas here…we processed a double murder in Henderson."

"I remember. But this year, I asked for the day off." His hand covered hers. "I figured you probably didn't have plans. But if I'm wrong…"

Sara cut him off with a kiss. "What time should I come over?"

* * *

At 7:57 p.m., it was a matter of minutes until Sara was set to arrive. At least he'd finished the final decorations hours ago. Waiting until the last minute had not been the smartest of plans, but after a frantic trip around town, Grissom had managed to find a decent tree and some generic trimmings for it. He'd positioned it to the right of the fireplace. Much debate had taken place internally about whether a fire would be overkill. In the end, he'd taken his chances and lit one; it crackled merrily in the hearth.

Frank Sinatra sang Christmas classics through the stereo. He had a vegetarian lasagna and garlic bread warming in the oven, the easiest meat-less meal he could think to prepare. As he opened a bottle of wine, Grissom wondered for the hundredth time if the single present sitting underneath the tree had been a good idea. They hadn't broached the subject of gifts, and he didn't want her to feel obligated to get something for him. But when he'd seen what was now carefully wrapped up in ice-blue paper and silver ribbon, he had instantly known that he wanted Sara to have it.

The cork came out of the bottle with a pop and there was a knock on his door.

"Merry Christmas," she greeted him. She had a sprig of plastic mistletoe in her free hand, the other being occupied holding her large handbag. As she passed over the threshold, she held it up over their heads and planted a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Something smells amazing." She moved past him, into the house, searching out the source of the mouthwatering scent.

He held onto the doorframe for a moment, collecting himself. The old Sara Sidle was definitely back.

Sara moved through his home like she belonged there. Or maybe he was just projecting his desire to have her be a permanent part of his life. Whatever it was, something within him stirred when she slipped out of her coat, revealing tailor black pants and a red sweater that softly hugged her body, and hung it next to his on the coatrack. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and, admittedly, it made her look dangerously young. But also acutely desirable.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Would you care for some wine?"

She seemed distracted by something. "Um…sure. Grissom? I mean, Gil." Sara cocked her head to one side. "What happened to your butterflies?" She gestured to the bare wall.

Pouring her a glass, he nodded. "I took them down awhile back."

"Why?"

Grissom approached her with the wine. "I've stopped putting the beautiful things in my life behind glass." He handed hers to her and touched his glass to it. "To the early Christians, for moving the celebration of Jesus' birth to winter to coincide with the pagan festival of Yule."

"To religious imperialism." Sara drank, studying him over the crystal rim. "I like your tree," she blurted out a second later. "The decorations at the Sphere are nice, but there's something about a real tree."

"My mother's influence. She still doesn't believe in fake trees."

Sara nodded. "I hadn't ever seen a plastic tree until my first Christmas in foster care. At the time, I thought it was blasphemous. But then the next year, I was with a family who didn't care enough to put one up. Suddenly a fake tree didn't seem so bad."

"I'm sorry," he said, as if the words could heal every bad thing that had ever happened to her, every wound that had been inflicted by her mother's actions.

She shook off regret with a jaunty lift of her shoulders. "So…I brought a gift. For you." The words were rushed, like she had to get them out to fill up the silence between them. "We didn't discuss presents and I don't want you to feel bad if you didn't get one for me, but…" Sara stopped when she noticed him smiling. "What?" He pointed to the tree. When she spotted the lone present underneath it, Sara let out a little sigh of relief. "How is it that we speak the same language, but never really communicate?"

"I don't know," Grissom admitted. "It isn't easy, Sara. You have this ability to put everything you feel into concise statements that leave me utterly flabbergasted. And by the time I know what I want to say to you, it's too late."

"You're not too late."

"And that's exactly what I wanted for Christmas."

Sara blinked rapidly. "Well, you're going to get a little bit more than that." Setting down her glass, she reached for her bag and pulled out a brightly wrapped package. "Under the tree? Or do you want to open it now?"

"After dinner," he suggested. "Will you have dinner with me, Sara? See what happens?"

* * *

What happened was that she discovered the man could cook. If she hadn't already been hopelessly head over heels for him, his homemade marinara sauce might have been enough to steal her heart.

They ate at the elegantly set table for two, but when it came time for dessert, they moved into the living room. Grissom stoked the fire and added a couple of logs while Sara put on a pot of coffee.

"I'm a student of the Greg Sanders School of Coffee Artistry," she told him as she carefully measured out the grounds. "In Bosnia, I made the fatal mistake of making a pot over the fire on one of our first nights in the camp. From then on, it was my unofficial daily chore. I guess it was a compliment." She turned the machine on and joined him on the couch in front of the hearth. "Ask me."

He frowned. "What?"

"You want to know about Bosnia, don't you? So, ask me."

After a moment of thought, he asked her, "How was the weather?"

Sara stared at him. "That's…not what I was expecting you to ask."

"You'll talk about it when you're ready," Grissom simply said. "I won't be the one to decide when that is."

She let out a breath. "Thank you." A moment passed as they watched the fire dance. "Do you want your present now?" she asked him.

He answered her by getting up and retrieving both gifts from under the tree. He handed her the silver and blue, keeping the red and green wrapped box for himself. "Go ahead," he urged her.

Sara shook her head. "You first."

Grissom pulled the paper away to reveal a glass specimen jar with a dead bug inside. To anyone else, it would have been the equivalent of a lump of coal. But for him, it was cause to exclaim with a fair amount of joy, "A larch bark beetle!"

"He found me while I was working in the Valley one day." Sara smiled as Grissom peered through the glass at his gift. "I tried to keep him alive, but as you can see…" She trailed off. "I hope you don't already have one. The textbook said they were rare and pretty specific to Eastern Europe." When he said nothing, she went on, "I'm sorry I didn't have time to display him. But you can probably do that better than I…"

"Sara…" He tore his eyes away from the bug. "Thank you."

She managed a weak smile under the force of the gratitude that shone in his eyes. "You're welcome."

Grissom forced himself to set down his new toy. "Your turn."

Sara took her time unwrapping her gift. Each fold of the paper was another second of delicious anticipation. Finally, a small jeweler's box lay in front of her. "This is too much," she said, shaking her head.

"You haven't even opened it yet, Sara."

"It's in a velvet box. Anything that comes in a velvet box is too much."

"Please open it."

She did so hesitantly. But then, something inside the box caught the light and shone, nearly making her heart stop. "Oh, Gil…" A delicate butterfly made of silver lay nestled inside; she lifted it out by its silvery chain with trembling fingers. "It's beautiful…but I was right. It's too much."

He took the necklace from her. "Turn around." When she complied, Grissom gathered her hair up and draped it over her shoulder to get at the smooth nape of her neck. Sara's entire body tingled as he fastened the clasp. She turned her head back around to see him. "You're beautiful."

Sara touched the butterfly resting at the notch of her throat. "What are we doing here?"

"I'm not sure. But I don't want it to stop."

He held his breath until she replied, "Neither do I."

There was no mistletoe, but his mouth met hers a moment later. It wasn't right that a single kiss from Grissom caused more intense sensations than an entire night with Hank ever had. His hands skimmed her lower back, making her long for his touch everywhere. She urged him on by pulling at his buttons.

The fire laid out before them couldn't generate the kind of heat flaring up between their bodies. Just like in her hotel room, her shirt went first, followed by his. Soon, his larger frame covered her slender one on the wide couch. Sara reached up to run her fingers through his hair when a thought occurred to her. "Gil, what about…" Her own shyness surprised her. "I'm not on anything to prevent…"

It took him a second to catch on. "It's okay, honey. I've got it covered." Sara stared at him for a second before snickering. "I mean…you know what I…oh hell." He lifted himself up on his elbows, flushed with embarrassment.

She loved him even more right then. Her bumbling scientist. "You know, some women would consider that presumptuous, but choose to think of it as merely being..."

Grissom kissed the base of her throat, just above the butterfly. "Optimistic?"

Her answer to that was to pull him back down to meet her lips in a kiss that promised much more.

* * *

The fire had died down to a pile of orange embers. The coffee pot was full, but stone cold after the machine turned itself off. The CD had long since ended. And they'd traded the couch cushions for the blankets and pillows of Grissom's bed.

He woke in the early hours of Christmas Day. Sara lay in the crook of his arm, like she'd been there a thousand times before. With her face turned into his bare chest, her hair spread out over them both. The covers had slipped down to expose her shoulder. He tugged them back into place to keep her warm.

Everything about being with her like this was perfect, better than any dream and far better than it had ever been with any other woman. Was this the difference between having sex and making love? It wasn't a distinction he'd ever recognized in the past. Sex had been sex, a biological necessity that could feel pretty damn good. Sex with Sara was a life-altering experience that had drained him in such a clichéd fashion, mind, body and soul, yet left him completely fulfilled.

He didn't want to break the spell that had fallen over them, but nature called. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Grissom carefully moved her body and slipped out of bed. Sara frowned in protest, but didn't wake.

A few minutes later, he was brushing his teeth with the wicked intent of waking her for another life-altering experience, when he heard a strangled cry from the bedroom. "Sara?" Grissom left the water running and ran back to her.

Caught in the throes of a nightmare she couldn't escape, Sara had twisted herself into his sheets. Her head shook back and forth on the pillow.

"Sara?" He climbed onto the bed and gently took her shoulders. "Wake up, honey." She fought against him, but he refused to let go. "Sara!"

Her eyes flew open, letting loose the floodgate of her tears. "Gil?"

"I'm here, honey." Her face crumpled. "It's okay." Grissom pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently. "Whatever it is…it's all right."

"There were so many of them," she sobbed into his neck. "They just…dumped them in that hole like…like they didn't matter! Even the children. And…and there was this little girl…oh god…what they did to her…"

"Honey, you don't have to…"

"No…I do." She drew back a bit, dragging her lower lip between her teeth. "I'm ready now."

Guidling both of their bodies back down to the bed, Grissom combed his fingers though her tangled hair and let her talk until she wore herself out. She poured her heart out, telling him every horror, every injustice she'd uncovered during her time in Bosnia. He held her the whole time, until she fell asleep curled against him once more.

Grissom watched her, searching for any signs that the nightmares had returned. But her face was peaceful, like she'd conquered all of her demons just by putting them into words. It amazed him; she amazed him. She'd experienced a level of hell to which even his many years on the job had never exposed him. But she'd come back from it with her sense of self even more intact. At the same time he was proud of her, he was also terrified for her.

Before he drifted off himself, he made a vow.

"I'm never letting you go again."

* * *

To Be Continued

A/N: I know I took some serious liberties with Grissom's townhouse. I claim artistic license. And if some fan fic authors can make Grissom gay, I can certainly give him a fireplace. I actually wrote the majority of his chapter in front of a roaring fire. But Kristen, you might say, you live in Florida, land of perpetual heat waves...do you even have fireplaces down there? Why, yes, we do. We also have air conditioning. Crank the temp down to sixty-five and spark up the Yule log. Merry Christmas from the Sunshine State!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Hope everyone had a lovely holiday. My parents put the C, S and I in Christmas by giving me the DVD set of the first season (now I only need season four and I'll have the whole show so far...and then it's on to world domination!) and the soundtrack. My inner GSR geek is happy; the CD has "Unbound" on it. While I did try to actually take the break I gave myself, I found that I couldn't stay away from this story for too long. When you're on a roll, you go with it. Also, there's going to be some site maintenance later in the week, and I wanted to beat that. So enjoy and have a happy New Year!

* * *

Letting Go 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Of all the things you've got 

The thing you want the most is there

And she's the one thing that you just can't have

- XTC, "I Can't Own Her"

* * *

_Dear Ms. Sidle,_

_While we understand that you are currently on personal leave, certain developing circumstances compel us to ask if you might return to London at the earliest possible instance._

_As you are undoubtedly aware, political and social tensions in the Central African Republic have lately resulted in pockets of violence throughout the country. The United Nations has requested the aid of IFFS, and we are responding by dispatching several teams, yours included, to help cope with the mounting death toll._

_We are charged to remind you that this assignment is a potentially dangerous one, and that you can decline at any time. However, if you choose to go with your team, they are scheduled to depart in mid-January, as soon as they are vaccinated for yellow fever. If you do plan to join them, please have yourself immunized for this, as well._

_You have done outstanding work for IFFS in your short time with us. We hope to see you in Africa. Happy Holidays._

_Sincerely,  
Dr. Laura Robertson, Director of Field Operations_

* * *

"Sara! Over here!" Greg dropped his arm when Sara waved back and started weaving her way through the crowded restaurant toward the corner booth. "I don't know," he said to the two men sitting across from him. "From a distance, she doesn't look any different. Maybe it didn't happen." 

"No way. Warrick's out fifty bucks." Nick rubbed his hands together eagerly. "You can pay up anytime, man."

Warrick shook his head. "Not gonna happen, Nicky."

Greg kept his eye on Sara and his voice low. "I thought that Warrick won if they didn't hook up during the trial."

"And we're all pretty much agreed that they didn't," Warrick added. "So Nick owes me."

"The trial is still going on," Nick argued. "They haven't even gotten to sentencing yet. And then there's appeals…" He flashed them a grin. "Therefore, if it happened, I won."

Greg drew a line across his throat as Sara reached their table, her cheeks flushed from being outside. Or was it something more than that?

"Sorry I'm late. Have you ordered already?"

"Just coffee." She slid into the empty space next to Greg. "We got you some," he told her, pushing her full mug closer to her elbow.

"Great. It's getting colder out there." Sara paused as she unwrapped her scarf, suddenly noticing the oddly amused looks they were giving her. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Nick assured her. "We've just missed having breakfast with you, that's all."

"Uh-huh." She reached for her coffee. "Sure."

Kicked back in his too-cool-for-words way, Warrick tossed her the sugar pack he knew she'd be asking for. "You do anything fun for Christmas, Sara?"

"I spent the night with Grissom." Greg choked on a scalding mouthful of coffee. "Is anyone else getting pancakes?"

Warrick laughed out loud. "You go, girl. Good for you."

Nick shook his head, temporarily dumbfounded by her frankness. "Um…congratulations. Yeah…yeah, this is a good thing. Isn't it?"

"You had sex with Grissom?" Greg squeaked.

She shot him a sideways glare. "I said I spent the night with him. I don't recall going into any further detail than that."

"Huh. I always figured Grissom would tear the sheets up."

Sara's eyes grew wide. "Greg, how much time have you spent thinking about what Grissom would be like in bed?"

"Not a whole lot. But you gotta figure all that random knowledge he's got…statistically, a good five percent of it has to be sexual smarts. Right?"

She shook her head. "And why do you assume that my reluctance to share every intimate tidbit says anything about Grissom's prowess?"

"This train of thought about Gris can derail anytime," Warrick said.

"It's just that for someone who finally hooked up with the guy she's loved for years, you're kind of…subdued," Nick tried to explain.

"Yeah," Greg agreed. "If I actually got it on with Pink, none of you would ever hear the end of it."

Sara set down her menu. "I got mail this morning from IFFS."

"Belated Christmas card?"

Greg was ignored again. "They're sending my team to Africa. And they want me to go, too."

Warrick nodded after a few seconds had passed. "Ah. I see the problem."

"It's only a problem if you're thinking about going." Nick frowned when she looked away. "Are you? For real?"

"But…what about Grissom?"

Giving Greg a look that demanded his silence, Warrick told Sara, "It's not like last time, is it? It's a different choice you have to make now."

"Very different." She added another sugar to her coffee just to give her hands something to do. "I don't know what to do."

"Be honest with him," Nick advised. "Make the decision together. If you're gonna be in a relationship, you have to start working this sort of stuff out as a team, not two separate, stubborn people."

Sara sighed. "I'm afraid to even bring it up. I'm not sure where we stand now. At least before, I knew the rules. But now…the whole game has changed. And I have to learn it all over again."

"Do you want to go?"

She couldn't ignore Greg this time, not when his question was so loaded. She looked at him; he was chewing on his lower lip like a little brother whose big sister was leaving for another semester at college. "I don't know." She let out a breath. "Maybe. Being back here has made me realize…I can't live in the desert anymore. I hate it. The sand, the sun…I get nauseous just seeing the mountains in the distance. I used to love it here. And it's not fair that Callie Lamb took that away from me, but she did." Sara lowered her eyes. "So I don't know where home is anymore."

A few seconds passed in awkward silence. Finally, Sara cleared her throat. "Where's the bathroom?" Without waiting for a reply, she climbed out of the booth and went off searching.

Nick watched her retreating back. "She didn't say 'no'."

"She didn't say 'yes,' either," Greg was quick to remind him.

Warrick drained the last of his coffee. "Either way, hold on to your butts. It's gonna be a bumpy ride."

* * *

"Just run it ahead of Grissom's stuff," Sofia instructed one of the techs over her shoulder as she left the DNA lab. "Trust me; these days, he won't even…" She stopped short when, through the glass walls, she saw Sara Sidle coming down the hall, a large guest badge clipped to her jacket. "…notice." 

Sofia took the long way around the fingerprint lab in order to come up behind Sara when the she stopped in front of the break room. "Sara, hello."

She was startled, but determined not to show it. "Hello, Sofia. It's...been awhile."

"It has." Sofia continued after a minute ticked by without either of them saying anything else. "The place hasn't changed much, has it?"

"No." Sara cleared her throat. "Maybe you can help me. I'm looking for…"

"Gil's in the field," Sofia interrupted her. "I'm not surewhen he'll be back."

"Actually, I was going to say Doc Robbins." Her smile was forced. "He's not in his office."

She checked her watch. "I don't know. But he had better just be in the bathroom; he's supposed to be wrapping up an autopsy for my case." Her expression turned curious. "What do you need him for?"

"It's personal. No offense."

"None taken."

There was absolutely nothing left to talk about, so Sara inclined her head and took a step back. "Well…take care."

"Hey, Sara." She turned back around out of politeness. "I admire the work you've been doing with IFFS. The article in the newsletter was compelling."

"I haven't read it. But thanks." Sara started off again.

"Are you back in town for good?" Sofia called out to her just as she rounded a corner. Her question was left unanswered. "Well," she continued to herself. "That's a no."

On her second trip into the morgue, Sara found the man she was looking for, elbow deep in his latest case. She caught his eye through the window in the door; he nodded to indicate he'd be right out.

Ten minutes later, Doc Robbins left the autopsy room without a visible trace of blood on him. "Sara," he greeted her warmly. "I was hoping you'd find your way here eventually."

"Hey, Doc." With this man, she didn't need to fake a smile. "How are the holidays treating you?"

"My wife gave me plane tickets to Kyoto for the Cherry Blossom Festival," he replied. "I made off pretty well." The older man paused. "I heard about the verdict. Regardless of the details, it's always nice to see a person responsible for sending someone to my table punished for it."

"It is." Sara cleared her throat. "I have a medical question."

He adjusted his glasses. "Go ahead."

"How would I go about getting vaccinated for yellow fever?"

"Now that's one I don't often hear. Are you planning a trip to sub-Saharan Africa?" She frowned and he clarified, "It's one of the few places on earth where it's absolutely necessary to be vaccinated for this particular disease."

Sara hesitated. "It's a long story, Doc."

"Well, I can recommend a good immunologist, a friend of mine, who probably has at least a limited supply of the vaccine available."

"Do you think it'd be possible to have it taken care of today?"

"I don't see why not." Doc Robbins studied her for a moment. "Are you in a rush?"

Sara folded her arms over her chest. "I'd like to get it out of the way. So that I at least have options." Her cheeks flushed. "I have a date tonight."

"Anyone special?"

"Yeah. Very special."

He nodded. "I'll get that number for you and call ahead to tell my friend you're coming."

"I appreciate it."

Doc Robbins leaned on his walking apparatus as he started down the hall. "And Sara. I take it I won't be mentioning this conversation to your date the next time I see him?"

Her strange, sad expression was all the answer he needed.

* * *

"I can't believe you don't have champagne glasses." Catherine carefully extracted two crystal glasses from the box she'd brought with her to the house, set them down on the counter, and glared at Grissom. "This is what happens when you're fifty and still a bachelor." 

"I have wine glasses," he argued. "You told me I couldn't use them."

"Wine glasses are for wine, Gil. Champagne glasses are slimmer, more delicate…you know, sexier."

He inspected one of them for dust. "It's all glass to me."

"Yeah, well, just be careful. They were a wedding present, and these are the last to survive Lindsey's childhood." She shook her hair out of her eyes. "Why didn't you just go buy a set of your own?"

"No time. She'll be here in a half an hour."

"Sara, right?"

Grissom gave her a look. "Of course."

Catherine held up her hands, defensively. "I just have to make sure. You don't have a great track record with women. This woman specifically."

"I'm working on it."

"So I see. Champagne, candles…" She pointed to his bedroom. "Three hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets."

"How in the world do you know that?"

"I can just tell." Catherine smiled at him. "You're wooing her."

Grissom busied himself with putting the Möet Chandon to chill. "It's New Year's Eve. I just want her to have a good time."

"Trust me. A woman's good time rarely depends on the thread count of the sheets. It's more about what happens between the…"

He cut her off quickly. "Thanks for the glasses. You can go now."

Catherine ignored him as she looked around the room. "Champagne, candles, sheets…" she repeated thoughtfully. Something struck her and she spun around. "You're going to propose!" Grissom nearly dropped the bottle. "You are! Oh my god..."

He cleared his throat. "I don't have a ring yet. I thought maybe she'd like to have some say in it. Do you think she'll mind?"

"I think…" Catherine shook her head. "No. I don't think she'll mind." After a moment's hesitation, she covered the distance between them and kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?"

Smiling, she wiped away the lipstick print she'd left behind. "Nothing. I'm gonna go now." Catherine grabbed her purse and walked to the door. "Gil…I'm really happy for you."

When she was gone, Grissom nodded to himself. "So am I."

* * *

It was ten minutes until the new year. And Sara couldn't get enough of the man in bed with her. 

The sex wasn't even the highlight of the evening, although it was nothing to dismiss. He played her body like an instrument and left her singing a new tune. Greg had seriously underestimated the percentage of his knowledge. But it was what came afterwards that had her so amazed. Just simply lounging in the sheets, sated beyond all measure of the word...doing all those little things lovers do after the pleasure fades, but before the itch renews.

She'd never thought he'd be one for post-coital bliss. But she was certainly glad to learn over the past week that she'd been wrong.

"Tell me about the tattoo."

The TV in Grissom's bedroom was tuned to Dick Clark's New Year's Eve countdown, time delayed for the Pacific zone, but neither of them were watching. He was propped up against the foot of his bed; Sara leaned against the headboard. As such, Grissom was able to take her ankle between his hands and run his lips over her inked flesh.

She laughed, the sheet covering her naked body slipping another tantalizing inch lower. "What do you want to know?"

"When, where, why…the usual." His kisses moved up her leg.

"I'll tell you. When you tell me what the male fascination with tattoos on a woman is all about."

Grissom paused at the inside of her knee. "I've seen hundreds of tattoos. There was a DB about a year before you came to Vegas…she had the words 'if you can read this, you had better be a friend' tattooed in small letters along her bikini line. Tattoos hold no particular fascination for me. It's the fact that you have one. And I never would have guessed."

"Because I'm such a nerd?"

"If you're a nerd, I don't even want to know what my label would be."

Chuckling, she gave in. "Okay. But I have to warn you, it's not a particularly exciting tale. It involves large amounts of tequila and a very intense game of truth or dare my sophomore year of college."

He crawled up the length of her body until they were face to face. "You would pick dare, wouldn't you?"

"Every time." Sara gave him a slow, lingering kiss. "Truth or dare."

"Truth."

"Do you still love me?"

Grissom stroked her hair. "More than I did yesterday. Not as much as I will tomorrow."

She held his face between her hands. "Do you think you'll ever stop?"

"That's two truths. It's my turn." He brushed a kiss across her lips. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." He raised an eyebrow and she smiled. "I like to keep things interesting."

"You always do." His fingers trailed down her throat, over her collarbone and along the length of her left arm. He stopped at a dark spot on her pale skin. "How did you get this bruise?" Sara's heart skipped a beat. Grissom went on, "It looks like an injection site." There was worry in his words. "Did you go to the doctor? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured him when she found her voice again. Sara pushed herself further up the bed until she was sitting upright, clutching the sheet to her breasts. "I have to tell you something."

He reached for his glasses on the nightstand. Slipping them on, he nodded at her to go ahead.

"Two days ago, I was vaccinated for yellow fever." The words hung in the air between them. "Because IFFS wants to send me to Africa."

The television provided the only sound in the room for a long time. It was maddening. Eventually, someone had to speak before they both went crazy.

"So, you're going then." She winced at his flat tone.

"I don't know," she said. A moment passed before he got out of bed. "Gil, don't do this."

He lifted his pants off of the dresser where they'd somehow landed and pulled them on. "Do what?"

Sara sat up on her knees. "You know exactly what." She watched him zip up. "Stop! Don't you dare concede to this, Gil Grissom! Get back in this bed so we can talk."

"Is there really anything to discuss? People generally avoid shots unless they're absolutely necessary. So being immunized can only mean that you've made up your mind and that you're leaving. Again."

She climbed out of his bed, wrapping the sheet around her body. "You can't know that. Because I don't even know that. It's something that we need to talk about."

"I won't stand in your way, Sara." The slump in his shoulders gave away the anguish he was so successfully keeping out of his voice. "We haven't made any promises to each other, so…"

"I can still feel you inside me," she whispered. "That should be a promise of at least getting the benefit of your doubt." She took small, hesitant steps up to him. "Can you give me that?"

He couldn't look at her. But he did nod. "Just…be honest. With me and with yourself."

"Okay." Sara paused. "A very big part of me wants to stay. My friends are here. You're here. Being with you is what I wanted for so long…it would be so easy to live in that fantasy. To work with you every day and sleep beside you every night."

"Then do it." Grissom's expression was one she'd never seen on him, even in the throes of passion. His eyes were wild, intense. He grabbed her hands and the sheet pooled around her feet. "Stay here, Sara. Be with me."

Sara looked back and forth between his eyes. "But there's also a very real part of me that wants to go. Maybe even has to go."

"Why? Why, Sara? Bosnia nearly broke you. The nightmares…you can't put yourself through that over and over and expect to come out unscathed. It'll change you, honey."

"You don't understand. That's why I have to do it." She lifted one bare shoulder. "I can't let it beat me."

He swore out loud. "I won't let you go. Not again."

Sara blinked. "You won't let me?"

"I became a man I hated while you were gone. I didn't know…I was I supposed to know that so much of who I am depends on you?" He gulped for air. "Marry me."

"What?" Her knees couldn't support her anymore, and she slipped to the floor. "Did you just…"

"I did." Grissom crouched down next to her. "Be my wife, Sara."

Her stare was glassy and unfocused as she absorbed this. "You don't want to marry me. You just want to keep me behind glass." He stood up slowly and she knew she'd gone too far. "I didn't mean that. Not entirely." Struggling to stand, she rewrapped the sheet around her nakedness. "Gil…"

It was two minutes until the new year. But all the old issues remained.

"I love you, Sara." Grissom shook his head. "I understand why you might not blindly take my word for it, but I want to be with you."

"Then…" She licked her lips. "Come with me."

It was his turn to stare at her. "Come with you…"

The more she thought about the idea, the more brilliant it became. "If you want to be with me…be with me. IFFS would fall all over themselves to hire you, especially with your entomology background."

"Sara…"

"I mean…think about it, Gil. You've as much as admitted that we can't have a relationship in Las Vegas. Even if I moved to another shift, you're still a supervisor and I'm not. But none of that would matter in Europe or…or Africa." Her face lit up, brighter than the ball that was about to drop on the television. "We could be together. And we wouldn't have to hide it or lie about it or change our lives to accommodate it."

"You don't consider dropping everything and moving thousands of miles away a change in lifestyle?" Grissom paced to the end of the room. "I am an old man, Sara. Old and set in my ways. My life is what it is and it's been that way for a long time. Fifty years old is no time to be starting all over again in a new job, a new country…"

"A new relationship?"

"I wasn't talking about…" He sighed. "I want to marry you, Sara. Look at me. I'm asking you to stay. I'm a different man, standing right here, asking you to be with me."

"On your terms. It's still just about you."

Grissom ran a hand down his beard. "I'm trying. Isn't that enough?"

She couldn't breathe for a long moment.

_Ten…nine…eight…_

"Tell me…" Hot tears stung her eyes. "…you just need some time to think about it."

_Seven…six…five…_

His Adam's apple bobbed. "I don't need time. Don't do this, Sara. Don't let go of us."

_Four…three…two…_

"I don't have to. You already have."

_One._

Her lower lip trembled. "Happy New Year."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Wow, it feels like I haven't updated since last year! Wait a sec... Sorry, that was bad. I hope everyone's holiday was as good as mine was. Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback from the last chapter. I want to extend a special thanks to Wiccagirl24 for her invaluable help when I was at a crossroads. And even though I ended up going this route with the story, I just want her to know how much I appreciate her letting me bounce ideas around. Take care and enjoy!

* * *

Letting Go 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Is it a dream?

When will it end?

When everything we've ever known

Has ended and I'm all alone

Where will I go?

Where will I be?

When you're gone, gone

How in the world will I go on?

- ELO, "Don't Walk Away"

* * *

_Dear Greg, Nick and Warrick,_

_Greetings from Bangui, the capital city of the Central African Republic._

_We arrived three days ago and spent most of the first day registering at the American Embassy, far more time than we had to in Sarajevo. The US government strongly warns its citizens against traveling to the CAR, but it's a bit too late to be worrying about that. We're here now, for better or for worse._

_With the exception of Simon and Berislav, the team is still the same, rested and refreshed after the holidays and ready to get to work. Our new translator is Jomo, who learned English from missionaries as a child. But the official language of the CAR is French. Just FYI, Greg. It'll be easier for you to learn than a tribal language. In addition to the usual suspects, we also have a military guard from the Embassy. Tensions are high here and even in the capital, attacks against foreigners are not rare occurrences. But I'll be fine. Don't worry about me._

_Unfortunately, though, it just isn't possible to get out into the country; the bodies have to be brought to us. IFFS has been given an abandoned building to work out of; we visited it for the first time yesterday. In Bosnia, it was bones. Here, it's fresh bodies. And I use the term "fresh" loosely. By the time they make the journey to the capital from wherever the fighting took place, they're pretty ripe. Heat plus humidity equals speedy decomp, after all. But we have no freezers or refrigeration lockers, so once a body comes in, it has to be documented and autopsied immediately. Which means we're always on call. We're told that less than twenty-four hours after they arrive, the bodies have to be cremated. And even with that, the smell remains. You know that smell. Just imagine it multiplied by a hundred._

_Enough shop talk. To sum up, I'm here and I'm safe. I wanted to thank you three for coming to the airport to see me off. It was a really hard day for me, and your presence made all the difference in the world. Especially when he didn't come._

_How is he? Is he taking care of himself? Eating right? Getting enough sleep? Don't let him work too hard. Remember, you promised to look after him._

_And if he ever asks about me, tell him he'll never be too late._

_Love, Sara_

_

* * *

_

There was a new, unspoken rule around the lab that unless it was a matter of dire emergency, such as fire or armed intruder, you did not knock on Gil Grissom's office door when it was closed. And those days, it was almost always closed. At least one rookie in fingerprints had gone home crying from the verbal lashing she'd received when she'd unknowingly broken the rule to deliver some results. Ecklie had taken no small amount of pleasure in writing Grissom up for that one. Grissom's answer upon hearing of the blemish on his previously spotless record had been a clear and cold, "Fuck him."

The graveyard shift had become a mine field. Any sudden movement could result in an explosion.

So when Catherine arrived at work on an otherwise unexceptional Wednesday night and passed by his open door on her way to the locker room, it took less than a second of thought before she entered the lair of the beast.

He was barely visible behind a wall of stacked textbooks, journals and paperwork, like Scrooge hiding behind his carefully counted coins. She approached his desk and lightly cleared her throat.

"Whoever you are, get the hell out and come back when you learn how to knock."

"Quit flirting with me," she replied, dryly. "You know how it makes me blush."

Grissom scowled at her over the top of one stack. "Catherine. What do you want?"

"A walk-in shoe closet lined from floor to ceiling with Manolo Blahnik's and Jimmy Choo's." His scowl turned into a deadly glare. "What? You asked."

"Don't let the door hit you on your way out." With that, Grissom disappeared again behind his books.

"Hey." Her temper sparked, Catherine pushed two stacks aside to create a window. What she saw was tragic.

He'd never been a sharp dresser with the exception of court sessions and formal dinners, but he'd at least always managed to find clothes that matched on a daily basis. Now, it looked like he'd dressed in the dark, which probably wasn't out of the realm of possibility. His pants were wrinkled; his shirt had seen better days. His beard was untrimmed and his hair had become an untamed mess of curls. He looked every inch the mad scientist.

The mother in her couldn't resist the urge to reach for his hand. "You look like shit," she told him, compassionately.

"This is a laboratory, not a runway," Grissom snapped. "I know you don't see the distinction, but my work isn't dependent on my physical appearance." He shook off her hand.

"I'm going to let that slide. For now." Catherine came around to his side of the desk. "I came in here to see if you're ready to talk. Your door was open, so I thought I'd risk it."

For the briefest moment, she thought she saw excess moisture in the corners of his eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone. "There's nothing to talk about. 'Love is not a victory march'."

"'It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah'," she finished up. "Good song. I'm surprised you know it." Catherine looked up at the ceiling for a long moment, choosing her words with care. "Gil, I realize that it's none of my business, but maybe if you talked about what happened between you and Sara, it would…"

He silenced her with a look. "I don't want to hear that name."

"Are we pretending she never existed?" Catherine sighed. "How very third grade of us."

Some floodgate deep within him burst just then. Grissom shot out of his chair, stalked wildly to the door and shut it as loudly as possible. "Fine, Catherine. You have a pathological need for the details, so here goes. She came over on New Year's Eve. We ate dinner, drank too much, and end up in bed. You can figure out what happened there, right? Or do I need to elaborate?"

She lifted her chin. "I know about the birds and the bees."

"Great. So, we're lying there and I'm thinking…this is it. This is as close to a perfect moment as a middle-aged fart like me can ever expect to come by. But I should have known." The strain in his voice worried her; how much emotion could a man unaccustomed to the burden of too much feeling take before his heart literally broke? "I should have known, Catherine. There are no perfect moments. Nothing good in life ever lasts. But I let myself forget that for a single, incredible minute…and then it happened."

"Africa?" she guessed.

"She's naked in my bed telling me that she hasn't decided anything, when I know for damn sure that you don't just go around getting inoculated for deadly diseases for the fun of it! And the whole time, all I could think about was what it was like when she was gone and how back then, I didn't know what she tasted like or how soft her skin is or that…" Grissom faltered, lost in the memory. "…or that she has a tattoo on her ankle…" He composed himself. "I couldn't help but imagine…how much harder would it be this time, knowing all of that?"

"Oh, Gil…"

"So…I asked her to marry me." Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but he went on, "She didn't believe it was what I really wanted. That I just wanted to keep her here."

A moment passed. She wasn't sure if she should prod him into continuing, but past experience told her that he was ten times worse off if he bottled everything up. "What happened next?"

"She asked me to go with her. She wanted me to join IFFS and be with her."

It was hard to stun Catherine Willows, and damn near impossible to make her jaw drop. That being said, she had to pick hers up off the floor before she said, "I guess I know what your answer was."

"I told her I was too old to move across the world and start a new life. I think I yelled at her because I know how hard Bosnia was on her, and I don't want her to go back to that kind of hell." Grissom paused for breath and noticed something. "Why are you nodding?"

"Because I agree with you."

His frown was one of deep puzzlement. "This is usually the part where you berate me for being an idiot."

Catherine shook her head. "I don't think you were an idiot this time. I wouldn't drop my life to follow someone else around the world, even if I loved them as much as you love her." She crossed her arms. "This would be a lot easier if I could use her name."

Her admission wasn't what he had expected to hear from his friend, the sensibility to his sense. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Well…because of Lindsey, obviously."

"I don't have any children."

"Also…I don't think I could deal with what she's doing over there," she admitted. "I've seen truly horrible things in my time, but some people just aren't wired to deal with death on that scale, and I think I'm one of them."

"I think I could do it," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Gruesome Grissom."

"I could at least give it a shot."

"Okay." She tilted her head to the side and studied him. "So why didn't you go with her?"

He shook himself out of his reverie. "It's not that simple."

"Oh, I know that. She asked for a hell of a lot from you. It would have been a hell of a lot to ask a normal man."

"Thanks."

"My point is…I think, for once, you made the right choice." Catherine paused. "Actually, when you think about it, she was being incredibly selfish."

Grissom's forehead crinkled. "Well…no. I mean, she wasn't wrong about some things. We couldn't have a normal relationship here. It could be years before she'll be eligible to be a supervisor, if she'd even want the job. I may not like it, but I can't see myself stepping down after this long, either. We'd be stuck in the same holding pattern that kept us apart before she left. All she really asked me to do…was to break that pattern."

"But you didn't."

"No. I didn't." All of the anger he'd been holding inside, and occasionally using to punish the people around him, drained away just then, leaving a heartbroken man behind, the shell of who he once was. "I let her walk out of my life. Again. She's been gone for 43 days. 1,032 hours. 61,920 minutes. 3,715,200 seconds." Grissom looked at her with dead eyes. "I know because I've thought 3,715,200 times that if I'd just done something different…said the right words, had a ring to prove myself…told her I loved her sooner…she would have stayed."

Catherine wrapped her arms around him in a sympathetic embrace. He remained frozen in place, but at least he didn't pull away. "It's okay to be hurting," she told him. "It's even okay to cry."

His chin rested on her shoulder and she could have sworn she felt twin spots of liquid sorrow soak through her shirt.

She hugged him harder. "It'll be our little secret."

* * *

During a ten hour layover in Cairo, Egypt, Sara had found a beautiful locket while shopping in the infamous bazaar. She'd bought it immediately, knowing exactly what would go into it. 

Now, hanging just over her heart, was Grissom's letter. It had gone around the world and back again, and passed through many hands, some friendly, some not, in order to find her. She couldn't count the number of times she'd read it after Jan had given it to her upon her return to London, but it was enough so that the folded edges were soft from being held. The ink ran in several spots from the tears shed over it. But she carried it with her always now, safely enclosed in tarnished gold.

Her memories of him were not so easily locked away.

Sara saw his face wherever she went, at the Embassy, the market, on the streets. Even in her sleep, he was present. It was a rare night that passed when she didn't wake crying from missing him so terribly, or aching for the pleasure she'd only briefly touched.

She wouldn't do it over again, though, she had decided. What seemed like a lifetime had passed since the car accident with Greg had sent her down a path to reclaim her life. Experiences both good and bad had shaped her, remolded her, irrevocably changed her. But one thing had always remained constant.

She still loved Gil Grissom.

The body laid out on the exam table in front of her and Jan crawled with tropical insects he might have only read about in books. He'd be in geek heaven. If he were there. If he'd come.

"What do you think did this? Machete?"

Jan's question temporarily cleared away her idle thoughts and returned her to the present, where she was supposed to be conducting a preliminary examination on a man brought in from the jungle only hours earlier. Holding her breath, Sara measured the maggot-infested scalp laceration. "Five inches." She gasped for air, taking a giant step away from the corpse. "It's a safe bet."

Jan shook her head at Sara's sudden queasiness. "Okay, I'm the bone girl; you're the hardened CSI. Yet you're the one about to lose your lunch? What's wrong with this picture?"

"I have issues with decomps," Sara informed her. "And that's in a sterile morgue with proper ventilation." She pointed up at the single paddle fan turning lazy circles over their heads. "That's not ventilation of any kind."

"That's for damn sure." A bead of sweat plopped off the tip of Jan's nose. She made a frustrated swipe at it, only to find it followed by another. And then another. "It's too hot, Sara. Let's take a break."

"No breaks. We're almost done, so let's just get it over with and get this poor guy into the fire." Clearing her throat, Sara steeled her attention to the bloated body in front of them. She'd avoided touching it until that moment, but she could no longer put off the task of undressing the victim. The clothes would be saved for future identification, long after the man had been reduced to ash.

As Sara worked up her nerve, a large centipede crawled out from between the victim's open, grotesquely swollen lips. Bile rose up in her throat.

"Want me to do it?" Jan asked as Sara clapped both her hands over her mouth.

Sara nodded fervently. "Yeah. I'll be…" She pointed to the door that led out into the hallway.

The air outside the room was a degree cooler and the scent of death was reduced by a fraction. It was enough of a change to help clear her head. Sara walked to the dirty window and drew in a deep breath. As she exhaled, she glanced down at the dusty city street.

"Sara?" It was Jan, coming up behind her, smelling of death. "Can I ask you something?"

She didn't turn around, but she nodded.

"Are you pregnant?"

Finally, Sara looked at her friend. "What makes you say that?"

"A combination of things, not the least of which is your extremely tender stomach." Jan paused. "I don't mean to pry and I know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but you've been so upset since you came back, I just thought maybe…" She trailed off.

"I'm not pregnant." Her voice was dull

"You're sure?"

Sara glanced back out the window. "Pretty sure."

Jan cocked an eyebrow. "You don't sound sure."

"Take my word for it."

"Okay. Then why do you sound so upset?" Her friend came up beside her. "Not being pregnant is a good thing…right?"

Sara lifted her shoulder. "I cried when I started my period."

She took a moment to digest this. "I'm sorry, Sara. He must be a hell of a guy."

"He is." Her hand covered the locket containing his words. "I mean, we used protection. Still there's always that small margin of error." She brought the gold up to her lips. "I can't imagine having a baby, but he's the only man I'd ever want to have children with. But we had our shot and it didn't happen so…that's that."

"You never know."

"No. I know. There's too much…we can't seem to get past any of it…" Sara's words dissolved into a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm not a crier, but…" Her chin dropped at the same time as her tears.

"Hey." Jan put her arm around her friend. "It's okay. It'll be our little secret."

* * *

"I don't believe it." 

Nick looked up from his lunch as Greg strolled into the break room, his attention glued onto a magazine. "What's so unbelievable?"

Greg kept reading as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "This article."

"What's unbelievable is that you're actually reading _Playboy_ for the articles," Warrick said after checking out the cover of Greg's magazine.

"At work, no less." Nick clucked his tongue. "Ecklie would confiscate that in a heart beat. For his own use, of course."

"Guys…" Greg glanced up. "It's about Sara."

"Sara's in _Playboy_?" Nick could not have sounded more shocked than if he'd been told Grissom was featured in _Playgirl._

"Huh," was all Warrick said.

Rolling his eyes, Greg held up the magazine. "It's an article about IFFS, specifically one Sara Sidle."

Warrick scanned the pages. "Written by…Simon Christiansen. Why do I know that name?"

"Wasn't he that guy Grissom wanted us to investigate, then told us to forget about?" Nick got up to read over Warrick's shoulder. "And the one Sara mentioned in her letters."

"One plus one equals two," Greg quipped. "We should have already done this math."

"It's a good piece," Warrick noted. "A little heavier than I like my girly mags, but…he makes Sara sound like a cross between Mother Theresa and Helen of Troy."

Greg's eyes grew wide as he looked out through the glass wall. "Ix-nay on the Agazine-may! Ow-nay!"

Warrick frowned. "I liked it when he just spoke Bosnian."

"I was partial to the Elvish," Nick snickered.

Just then, Grissom entered…and caught three of his CSI's gathered around a _Playboy_ magazine.

"Boys," he said with a trace of warning in his tone. He snatched it out of Warrick's hands. "Grow up."

They watched as he started to close the magazine up, but when a particular picture caught his eye, he froze.

Artistically speaking, it was a beautiful image. But it was the subject matter that made it come to life. The photographer had captured Sara examining a bone; her face in profile was forever captured with an intense look of fascination, tempered by an underlying melancholy.

It said more about Sara than any words in the article could.

Warrick cleared his throat. "I've got DNA results due." He stood up to go.

Nick caught on and gathered up what was left of his lunch. "Yeah. Um…Ballistics paged me awhile back."

Greg remained seated until Nick kicked him in the shin. "What? I'm on break!" He caught Warrick's look, and sighed. "Fine. Just to round things out, I'll pretend to have something to do in Trace."

Grissom ignored all of this, and didn't notice that he was soon alone in the break room. He wasn't even aware of the fact that eventually he sat down in the chair Greg had occupied. The magazine lay flat in front of him as he stared at her image.

There were women in the world far more conventionally beautiful…so what made her so captivating? Why, when faced with just a picture of her, was he as dumbfounded as he had been the first time she'd raised her hand in his lecture to ask him a question?

He closed his eyes, remembering.

_"Sara…talk to me."_

_"Is that an order from my supervisor?"_

_"It's a request. From a friend."_

Her laughter._ "Sorry. I just find that funny."_

Sometimes his memory was a curse.

_"I'm not worth the risk."_

_"How long have you known what I said in that investigation room?"_

_"I heard it all for myself."_

_"You weren't supposed to."_

_"I'm glad I did. Or else I would have eventually started hating you."_

But she never had. No matter what he'd done, her feelings had been a constant, like his, only she'd never hidden anything. Of all the people in his life, Sara had been the easiest to read, but the hardest to handle.

_"I don't want to spend the rest of my life chasing after something that's never going to let me catch it."_

Being caught. Being known. It was all the same, and frightening to him.

_"I love you, Gil."_

The words he craved and dreaded in equal amounts. God, he loved the way his name sounded in her voice. Exasperated when he confused her, mischievous when she was out to confuse him. Breathy and throaty when whispered in his ear as they made love...soft and sleepy afterwards.

_"I have to go. You have to let me go."_

And he had. Not once, but twice. Was that love, or just the easy way out?

_"'We are all a little weird and life's little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutual weirdness and call it love.'"_

Nick's surprising wisdom. The memories were congealing into a large lump in his throat. Grissom swallowed heavily. The lump was moving into his chest, pressing on his heart. He'd had her for one shining moment. And then…she was gone. He hadn't stopped her. He hadn't tried hard enough. He'd given up.

_"I'm worried about you. Twenty years from now, I don't want to still be dropping by your empty townhouse to find you eating alone."_

"Gil." As if she could sense him remembering her very words, he felt Catherine coming up behind him. "What've you got there?"

His thumb rested over Sara's lips on the page. "Nothing." He paused. "And everything."

Catherine double-blinked. "Is that Sara?"

"My Sara," he said softly. She took a seat next to him. A moment passed before the light bulb went off in Grissom's mind. "She's my soulmate."

Catherine had one word for him. "Duh."

His eyes darted back and forth, but saw nothing but her face. "I want to be with her."

"Don't make me repeat myself."

_"By the time you figure it out…you really could be too late."_

He slowly turned his head and looked at her for a long moment. "I've gotta go."

She blinked as he got up and left. Confused, all she could do was follow him through the hallways and into his office. It wasn't until he'd grabbed his briefcase and started shoving personal effects into it that she found her voice.

"You're not thinking what I think you're thinking…are you?"

He spoke rapidly, as fast as he packed away his time with the LVPD's crime lab. "Feed the spiders. You know the drill. I'll write to tell you what to do with them permanently."

"Oh my god…you are." Gone was the zombie who'd been walking around the lab for the past few weeks. But there was also no trace of the confusion and denial he'd been carting around on his shoulders for the past few years. This Grissom was decided. Determined. It was a refreshing change. Yet, a startling one. She blew out a breath. "I have no idea what to say. I don't want to talk you out of it, but…have you thought this through? Are you just going to hop a plane to Africa and hope you bump into her on the Serengeti?"

"First of all, she's nearer to the rainforest than the grasslands. And second…I'll figure it out." Grissom hesitated before he picked up his name plate. "Tell the guys. I think they'll understand."

"They will," she agreed. Catherine held out her hand for it. "Let me hang onto that." She looked down at his gold-embossed name with reverence. "You know, Gil…I don't do goodbyes very well."

"Then we'll skip that part." He took one final look around. "Take care of the lab."

There were actual tears in Catherine Willows' eyes. But there was also a smile on her face. "That's it?"

"That's it." He smiled back, for the first time in weeks. "Good luck."

"Same to you. Both of you." Catherine brushed away the moisture on her cheek as Grissom walked out the door for the last time.

* * *

To Be Continued 

A/N: As I mentioned earlier, I reached a crossroads in this story, with this particular chapter, and I had two routes in front of me. I chose the one you've just read, but I did write an alternate scenario. If anyone is interested in reading it, I've posted it on my livejournal. My username is **belismakr**. Take care!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: To follow.

* * *

Letting Go

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

She may be the reason I survive

The why and wherefore I'm alive

The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years

Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears

And make them all my souvenirs

For where she goes I've got to be

The meaning of my life is she

- Elvis Costello

* * *

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_Please accept this letter as my formal notice of resignation from the Las Vegas Police Department Crime Lab, effective immediately._

_I would like to use this opportunity to highly recommend Catherine Willows to permanently take over supervision of the graveyard shift._

_Thank you._

_Sincerely, Gil Grissom_

* * *

"Sir?"

Grissom opened his eyes and saw the flight attendant looking down on him. It took him another second to notice the drink cart. "Oh. Um…tomato juice. Please."

By the time she'd poured his drink, Grissom remembered that he didn't like tomato juice. Sara did. He drank it anyways.

The man sitting next to him in business class glanced over. "First trip to England?"

Grissom inclined his head. He'd been several places around the world for various conferences (a good thing, as it meant his passport was up-to-date), but never to England.

"I come about once or twice a year. I'm in international sales." He produced a business card and held it out until Grissom took it. "You ever need anything shipped overseas, we're the best."

"Thanks." Grissom put the card into his pocket, hoping he remembered to throw it away before he washed his shirt.

The other man threw back his Scotch and paused, considering him. "Let me guess. You're in…politics?"

He very nearly laughed out loud. "No."

"Law? Education?" The man tried again. "Religion?"

Grissom gave in, just to bring the conversation to an end sometime before they landed. "Bugs."

"Of course." The man thought for a second, then frowned. "Um…what?"

"Yes." He closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat.

When he woke again, it was to the voice of the pilot through the plane's intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're on final approach to Heathrow, just waiting for landing clearance. Local time is 10:45 a.m. and the temperature is a chilly 4 degrees Celsius. That's 40 degrees Fahrenheit for our American guests. We want to thank you again for choosing British Airways. Please relax and enjoy the final leg of our journey."

The words stuck with Grissom all through their descent. Was this the final leg of his journey? Or would he be too late and find that Sara was already on a different path?

* * *

The sheet cake landed on the table right in front of Greg, and the cup of Ramen noodles he'd been slurping down was quickly forgotten.

"What's the occasion?" he asked Warrick.

Before the bearer of the bakery goods could answer, Nick entered the break room, took one look at the cake and groaned. "Okay, whose birthday did I forget? Please tell me it's not Catherine's. She'll never let me live it down."

Warrick rummaged through a cabinet and came up with a short stack of paper plates. "Take it easy. You didn't forget anyone's…"

"I smell chocolate." Catherine popped her head into the room, inhaling deeply. "And frosting." She spotted the bakery box. "Ooh, cake!" She approached the table and lifted the lid. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Pulling a knife out of the drawer, Warrick sighed. "Like I've been trying to say." He sank the blade into a corner of the cake. "Grissom once told me that when he left us, there would be no cake in the break room." He pushed the piece onto a plate and handed it to Catherine.

She ran her finger around the edge and licked off the icing. "And you didn't want him to be right?"

Warrick gave Nick his piece. "A long time ago, the man saved my career. Maybe even my life." He smiled ruefully. "I couldn't let him be right."

Catherine slipped her arm through his. "You're a good man, Warrick Brown."

"Can you make a toast with cake?" Greg wondered as he received his slice.

"If you don't mind frosting in the toaster," Nick snickered. "I gotta write that one down."

"Save your ink, Nicky," Catherine said, sweetly.

Warrick raised his plate and the others followed suit. "To Gil Grissom."

"And Sara Sidle!" Greg added.

Nodding, Warrick finished with, "Wherever life takes them, let it be together."

* * *

The morning started like every morning since she'd arrived in Africa. Get up, resist reading Grissom's letter, take a quick sponge bath, give in and read Grissom's letter, get dressed, go down to the hotel lobby for breakfast with the team.

Only there was something odd in the air that particular morning. A gut feeling that had Sara proceeding with caution as she entered the dining room.

She sought out her team's usual table, just to find them all clustered together in a far corner, discussing something.

"Good morning," Sara said, as brightly as possible.

"Nothing good about it," the Dick snorted.

She looked at Jan. "What's going on?"

"Just some local political stuff," Jan replied, nervously. "Nothing big, really. Someone tried to kill the president last night."

"Oh yeah, that's nothing big." Sara swallowed. "Did they succeed?"

"He'll be dead by the end of the day," Doc Ashe said, gravely. "And this entire country will descend into chaos."

"The Embassy is pushing for all non-essential citizens to leave immediately, just in case," Jan filled Sara in. "We have to decide if we're going to take one of the flights out, or stick around and see what happens."

The Dick scratched his bald spot. "You all do what you want. But I have no intention of 'sticking around' and getting murdered by some fourteen year-old insurgent with a machine gun!"

"I don't relish the idea of getting caught in a military coup d'état myself," Doc Ashe said. "But on the other hand, if there is fighting, we will be needed."

"We were told that this was a potentially dangerous mission." Sara put her hand over her locket. "Maybe we shouldn't make any decisions until we know more."

The Dick shot her a contemptuous look. "By then, it could be way too…"

He was cut off by sudden screams from the lobby. There was yelling in French. Jan grabbed Sara's free hand.

Where was Jomo? They really could have used a translator when several men carrying guns stormed into the dining room.

* * *

For the ten days it took his yellow fever vaccination to become effective, Grissom explored London.

He would be the first to admit that his fascination with the city ran towards the macabre. At the Tower, he stood in line to see the Crown Jewels, but took far more interest in standing on the exact spot where Anne Boleyn was beheaded. He walked through 221B Baker Street, home of the world's greatest detective Sherlock Holmes, but also took the walking tour of Jack the Ripper's crime scenes.

When he wasn't playing tourist at the British Museum or Westminster Abbey or the Globe Theatre, Grissom was on long distance to Las Vegas, getting his affairs in order. Catherine agreed to box up his more personal and expensive belongings; the rest would be packed and stored by the movers he hired. He owned the townhouse, fortunately, and didn't need to deal with it right away, but he did have to cancel the utilities. There were so many things to do and he wanted to get them all out of the way and focus on the one thing that really mattered.

On the day before his scheduled flight to Bangui by way of Cairo, Grissom found himself wandering through St. James Park. It was cold. It was wet. And he was pretty much all alone.

At any other time in his life, it would have been his idea of a perfect day. But she'd come along. And now all he could think about was how he wanted her walking next to him, keeping her hands warm in his pocket, eager to get back to their hotel room and spend the rest of the day under the covers.

Fifty years old and he was daydreaming about a girl. Better late than never.

He broke his morning traditions the next day by not turning on the television or buying a newspaper on his way to the airport. His mind was entirely on the next twenty-four hours…and how in the hell he was going to find Sara in a foreign country.

So when Grissom arrived at the airport to check in for his flight, he was, to put it lightly, outraged to discover that it had been canceled.

The girl behind the airline's international counter gave him a placating smile of sympathy. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Grissom," she said in her soft British accent. "But with the current situation in the country, we have temporarily halted service to…"

"Current situation?" Grissom shook his head. "What situation would that be?"

"Well, sir…the political situation." He gave her a blank stare. "The assassination of the President of the Central African Republic. It's been on the telly all morning." She looked beyond his shoulder. "Sir, I am very sorry about your flight, but if you wouldn't mind…there are other passengers…"

"No, see. I do mind." He gripped the counter with both hands. "I know it's just a small country to you. One destination out of hundreds you service. But it's not just some little African country to me. There happens to be someone I care about a great deal…someone I love who is in that country. So it's not simply a flight to me. It's my only way of getting to her. And if she's in danger…I have even more reason to be there!"

He was beginning to attract some attention, but he didn't notice or care. The girl cleared her throat, looking around for someone to save her from the crazy American.

"I don't care if you have to put me in a prop jet and sneak me across the border under the cover of night," Grissom went on, his voice rising. "I have paid for a flight to Bangui, and Bangui is where I intend to go!" He took a breath. "Now, will you help me or not?"

The girl was already picking up her mobile phone. "Perhaps you should speak to our manager."

* * *

"I need a shower in the worst way." Jan raised her arm and sniffed. "Twenty-four hour protection, my ass."

Sara declined to smell herself. She had a feeling that after an entire day of traveling, with her last bath having been of the sponge variety, she wasn't all that fresh.

There had been no international flights out of the capital. From Bangui, they'd been flown south to Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. From there, they'd traveled to Johannesburg, South Africa. And only from there had they been able to catch a direct flight to London.

They landed at Heathrow looking and feeling a lot like refugees. But there were certainly worse things than unwashed hair. The armed guards who'd come into their hotel could have been revolutionaries intent on murder or kidnapping, and not government guards sent to escort them to the American Embassy. Really, they were very lucky.

But Sara was having a hard time seeing the positive through the negatives. They'd been forced out of the country, forced to abandon their work. All of the photographs and documentation and physical evidence they'd worked so hard to collect in the hopes of someday arresting the revolutionaries for the murder of their own countrymen, had been left behind, and would probably end up in the very hands of the people it was intended to bring to justice. As much as she was grateful to be safe, Sara was ticked.

"Mind the gap," their flight attendant warned them as they left the plane and stepped into the covered skywalk that led to the terminal. "And thank you for flying with us today."

"Like we had a choice," Sara muttered, adjusting the strap of her carry-on over her shoulder.

Jan put her arm around her friend. "Calm down. They'll find another place to send us, or we'll just hang out in London until our site in Bosnia thaws. We'll hit the pubs together. You can be a slag like me!" She considered Sara. "Okay, you're not the slag type." Jan shrugged as they emerged into the international gate. "We'll find something else to take your mind off of…stuff."

Sara tried to smile. What if she didn't want her mind off of "stuff"?

Doc Ashe and the Dick had been seated in the front of the plane and had debarked first. "Baggage claim is this way, ladies," the doctor informed them when they met up a moment later. "Richard went ahead."

"Of course he did," Jan snorted. "C'mon, Sara." The trio of displaced scientists began weaving their way through the crowded terminal.

They passed several gates before something caught Jan's attention. She paused for a moment, causing Sara, who had not been paying attention, to bump right into her. "What's the hold up?" Sara asked, irritated.

Jan pointed to a small crowd gathered around the gate. "Some guy over there is having a fit about something. It's like that airport reality show. Minus the film crew. I'm gonna go watch."

"She's a teenager with a PhD sometimes," Sara complained to Doc Ashe. "Jan, we have a schedule to…"

Every thought, every objection, every grievance immediately vanished as Sara heard his voice.

"No, I don't believe I'm being unreasonable." He was angry. But there was something else. She knew all of his tones and inflections, but this one was different. Annoyed, yes, but also…desperate. "And you don't need to explain the situation to me again. I am not intellectually challenged. I'm well aware now of the political situation. But from what you've told me, the border has not been closed. The American Embassy is still open. And the US State Department has only issued a travel warning, not an outright ban. I am an American citizen and I want you to fulfill your obligation to take me to Bangui, as you were charged to do when I bought this ticket a week…"

"Gil."

Sara didn't realize how loud she said his name until he stopped talking. Many heads turned to see her…and in the midst of them all, she saw his face.

"Sara."

She didn't think. Thinking would have wasted time and enough of that had already passed them by. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and landed on the floor as she started running. The crowd parted to let Grissom through as he did the same. They met in the middle. The final leg of the journey.

Sara threw herself into his arms, at the same time he lifted her off the ground. At their reunion, a cheer went up through the crowd.

The clapping continued, but they were oblivious to anything but each other. Sara closed her eyes, stopping the flow of her tears. He was still the mixture of strength and softness she'd come to crave. An unfamiliar sense of elation enveloped her, like every molecule of her body was rejoicing just to have him near again.

She could feel him shaking as he set her back down on her feet, but he kept holding onto her so tightly that she wondered if he ever intended to let go again. "You're okay," he chanted into her hair. "My god, Sara…I thought I was too late."

"Is this real?" Sara said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "How are you here?"

His lips found her temple. "I had to see you."

Instinctive reservation probably wasn't a good thing, but she had to know for sure. Before they went any further. "For a minute?" she asked. "A day…a week?" Her arm slipped from around his neck and her hand came to rest over his heart. "How long do I have you?"

"How long do you want me?"

It took a lot of willpower to pull away from him in order to see his face. Grissom looked back at her with a clear blue stare, unclouded by any confusion or hesitation, or regret…none of the things that had burdened him before. It was like seeing a new face on the man she knew so well.

Sara savored her answer, and the speed with which it came to her. He wasn't the only one who'd shed his trepidation. "Forever."

Grissom smiled broadly. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He drew her back against his chest and kissed her, to the applause of the crowd still gathered to watch them. Sara's fingers gripped his shirt, urging him to make the kiss deeper, longer, more amorous than it already was.

Their lips parted softly. Sara opened her eyes, dazed, but only slightly confused. "Are you asking me to go back with you?"

"No." He held her face in his hands, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "I'm asking if I can stay with you."

"But…" Her tongue darted across her lips, savoring the lingering taste of his kiss. "What about the lab?"

"I quit."

Sara blinked rapidly. "Why?"

"So many reasons." Grissom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But mostly because I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

A shiver passed down her spine. "You just left it all behind? Everything you've worked for your entire life…for me? Why would you do that?"

"Honey...you're worth it."

Sara swallowed a choked sob. "Oh god, Gil…" Other men could say the words, but only he could make her believe them. "I love you, too."

When they kissed once more, only a handful of people, Jan and Doc Ashe included, were still interested in the scene enough to offer their congratulations by clapping. Even when they broke apart a few minutes later, they didn't separate.

They weren't letting each other go again.

* * *

_Dear Catherine and guys,_

_Ask and you shall receive. We've canceled our plans here in London and made arrangements at one of the more reputable and, frankly, classier places on the list Greg emailed us. We'll be arriving in two weeks._

_And yes, all of you are invited to the wedding chapel._

_See you soon._

_Grissom and Sara_

* * *

One day soon it'll all come out

How you dream about each other sometimes

With the memory of how you once gave up

But you made it through the troubled times

- Fountains of Wayne

* * *

Fin

A/N: So now we've come to the end of the road. I didn't anticipate this story taking a year to tell (yes, exactly a year tomorrow), but it's been one fun riding telling it. Thank you to everyone who's taken the ride with me, from the first chapter of "Giving Up" to now. I hope it was worth your time;) Your comments, reviews, emails and PM's have meant so much to me. I've tried to thank you all along the way, and maybe sometimes it's felt repetitive, but I just never wanted my appreciation to go unspoken.

So, one last time, thank you! And maybe we'll do this again soon;)

Kristen Elizabeth 1/16/2006


End file.
